Modern Education
by cleo nightingale
Summary: Of what use is modern education in ancient Britain? Of none as it seems. All this has to a bad dream, worse then the one back home in the 21st century. Female OC, appearance of all knights with Dagonet and Tristan in leading roles.
1. down by the river

Caution! This story may take a loooong time to finish as I cannot spend time on writing regularly.

Next warning: This is one of the "woman from modern time goes back to ancient Britain" stories. But I promise: she will neither befriend all knights already in the second chapter, nor will she catch the eye of one knight because of her extraordinary beauty (which she does not possess), nor will she endure unthinkable things and be rescued (only on minor occasion), nor will she be wielding a sword in a professional way (and nobody will teach her that), nor will she kill people (also not woads!), nor will she have supernatural powers, nor ... well, lets put it that way: She will be as normal as possible (on modern terms of normal) and totally at a loss as any of us would be in that time. She will scandalize with her way of thinking and acting (damn modern education) but won't do it on purpose ... until the final straw breaks the camels back.

And of course the disclaimer (do we really have to write that?): The characters in my story have by coincidence the same names as in the "King Arthur" movie and as they are based on figures from ancient legends, belong to all of us. I do not make any money from this story.

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„And never show up here again." The guard harshly yanked her out of the fortress walls by the arm and placed a kick on her backside to make sure she stumbled far enough away to close the gate properly. When she glanced over her shoulder she only saw the tip of a cloak be drawn back into the fortress walls before the wooden door rattled back into its frame and the lock clicked. The breath she had been holding escaped her lunge in a long sigh as relief swapped over her.

_Boy, have I been lucky!_

Well, kind of. Last night she had spent in a dark, damp hole of a dungeon, the official city prison, expected the guards to walk into the cell every minute and chop off one of her hands. Wasn't that what they did in the ancient times to thieves? Well, it was like that in the movies back home but maybe that was only artistic freedom of the writer. Movies and artistic freedom … tsk. Women around here were not walking in flowing dresses like in Lord of the Rings, nobody was wearing a Toga and the Roman soldiers did not carry shiny, polished armour. Everything was dirty, muddy, stinking, patched together from rugs. Not to speak of the houses. Small, damp, dark with no glass windows but holes in the wall that were barely covered with a rug to keep out the cold. No walls inside either. One room and that was it. No privacy.

But at the moment she was desiring nothing more than one of these small shabby huts and a pile of straw to rest. The sun would set in … she didn't know exactly when, but it was over its culmination point some time by now … not that time does matter around here. Hours are unknown. She rubbed her left wrist absentmindedly, where in old times a watch had been.

_Time to get up from your knees and look for shelter._

The night was approaching and it would be cold as soon as the sun sets. Slowly she got up and dusted of her dress a little. Fastening the shabby cloak around her shoulders, she took a look around and started walking the only possible direction, away from the fort. Only three days she had been around here and got banned already. At least all her limbs were still attached. The fear that had kept her awake all night, had imprinted the 'never steal again' into the inside of her head, but how long will it last? She had hungered two days before finally deciding to steal one of those small, crippled apples. She had lingered around this merchant all day, considered it over and over again, almost asked for an apple for free but when he wielded a stick at her and started shouting she had just grabbed one and run. Not fast enough as one can guess. She did not even round the corner when the escape route was blocked. Soldiers grabbed her arms and dragged her away. She did not put up a fight. The respect for authority and the knowledge that she had done something wrong stopped her from it, but as soon as her butt hit the stony floor of the cell, she regretted it bitterly.

_Damn modern education. Of what use is it here?_

The small trail she was following now led her through a bushy thicket that tore now and then on her trailing cloak and on the tattered hem of her dress. Passing some trees and two big bramble bushes, that unfortunately did not carry fruits in this time of the year, she finally ended up on a river. The walls of the fort were out of sight and neither to the left nor to the right was a sign of civilisation. Only the polished stones to her feet hinted to a place for washing.

_Washing. Cleaning._

The picture of a steaming bath tube full of white foam and sweet smelling water popped up in her mind but was shattered into pieces when her fingertips touched the water surface of the river. Although it was late spring season the water was ice cold. Looking at her filthy hands, feeling the grease in her matted hair and the dirt on her legs and arms, she gave it a bath a second thought. She hadn't washed since one week or was it two, not counting the short interlude on the horse trough. She had not counted the days as it was futile to know which day of the week it was when all were the same. How would she warm up after a bath and would her cloak be sufficient to dry her skin She settled on rinsing arms, legs, some private parts and face but not stepping into the water completely.

A look around convinced her that she was alone. So she shed her cloak and the coarse overdress under a tree, took of her leather shoes and stripped free of these scratchy wool stockings. Another safety look and she decided to keep on the thin linen shift and her … well … you wouldn't call it panties but something close. These and kind of an undershirt she had made herself with needle and thread only a month ago. Although the clothes that Sollin, _may he rest in peace_, had given her let her blend in with the others, she never felt comfortable in them. All dresses of course for she was a woman. They were scratchy, not fitting properly and impractical. And she had felt the need for one thing: proper underwear. The women around here wore layer over layer and covered almost every inch of their bodies but when it came to underwear, the air under their skirts could reach every private part. Did they not feel naked? So she had asked for a piece of soft cloth and started to make panties for herself. Not stretchy ones of course but a small waistband held them in place. When Sollin had asked what she had sewn, she had said underwear and he had not inquired further, excusing himself and blushing slightly.

And now she stood here in her self-made panties and undershirt, the last layer before nakedness. That she did not dare. Crouching down at the riverside on one of the polished stones she splattered water over her arms and started to scrub them up to her shoulders, ignoring the rising goosebumps.

As suddenly a scream erupted the air her heart leaped to her throat. Jumping up, almost slipping on the wet stones in the process, she bolted back under the tree, where she had shed her clothes. Peeking around the tree nobody was to bee seen. Another scream shattered the silence and then ongoing noise. Listening intently it sounded like a high pitched voice that screamed, wailed, cried … but by the love of god, one could not identify one word of it all. A child's voice? It was coming closer and closer and then she saw it. In the middle of the river, still a good hundred meters upstream, two arms were struggling to keep a body over water but failed miserably. The voice came from a small girl running along the river, keeping up with her drowning companion and brandishing with her arms wildly. Automatically she took a step into the water but icy needles stopped her short. A glance to the left and the running girl had disappeared and so did the struggling arms in the water from time to time. It was now or never. She took a last breath, squared her shoulders and dove head first into the liquid ice.

As it turned out she had misjudged the current. It was stronger than she thought and she had to strain to reach whoever was drowning in time before he or she passed by her position. The water kept leaping over her head and sprayed into her eyes and the cold was taking its toll. Also the thin shift that clung to her body was not helping. When she reached the middle she took a look around, drifting with the current further downstream. Where were the arms?

Wails sounded again from the riverbank, where she had entered the water, now quite a distance upstream, and she saw the girl gripping her dress and shouting something at a large figure, who now ran along the river but never entered the water. Suddenly, something her leg, grabbed her shift and pulled her underwater. Without orientation she whirled around, trying to get rid of whatever got caught on her and weighted her down. In the dark water she got hold of a small arm, got the second in her grip and finally managed to resurface. As taught in swimming class back home she rolled onto her back and looked at the small blonde mop of curls pressed to her chest. It turned out to be a little boy, maybe 7 or 8 years, who sputtered and struggled to get air into his lunges again. It made her attempts to get them to the riverbanks even more difficult with only her legs to carry them there.

It felt like an eternity but finally her toes grazed stony ground and she took a look over her shoulder only to see a now rather uninviting shore, steep and littered with rocks. Willing up the power for two last kicks, she tightened the grip on the boy with her right arm and grabbed for one of the rocks with the other one. It slipped through her fingers and the current carried the pair another 5m downstream. Also a second attempt failed but suddenly strong fingers closed around her wrist and yanked at her arm. They did not pull her from the water but close enough that she could finally get a hold on one of the rocks. She looked up at the owner and a huge frame towered over her position, broad shoulders and a face marred with a huge scar running across one eye made him the most intimidating man she had ever seen. And to that brute she should give the boy?

The struggling in her arms grew weaker and as a deep voice overhead rumbled "Give me the boy!" she did as he asked. With her last strength she lifted him as much as she could, pushing herself under water in the process. As the weight was taken from her arms, she tried to reinforce her grip on the stone but failed miserably. Her fingers where numb from the cold and just would not listen. She lost the little hold she had.


	2. down by the river  2

Little info: what is written in _italic letters _is what someone is thinking. You might get from the context whose thoughts they are.

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- the beginning from another point of view -

"One fortnight the midwife had said." The smile on Dagonets proud father-to-be face grew wider and wider still. "Have you decided on a name?" Galahad inquired. "We have, but Lyria wants to keep it secret." It cost Dagonet a great deal of self-control not to blurt out the carefully chosen names his first daughter or son would carry.

"And yourself? How is Aurelia doing? I heard her father has an eye on the fine young son of the cloth merchant." A sigh escaped Galahad, when he sunk deeper into the saddle that carried him since three days from a city at the western coast. "He is not keen to give his only daughter to a knight." he grumbled. Dagonet raised an eyebrow. "So you asked for her?" Galahad shuffled in his saddle. "No, not yet. Summer solstice is near and we might ..."

His thoughts were interrupted as his horse stopped dead in its tracks. Looking onwards between the ears of the animal, he saw Tristans horse only mere inches from his own and the scout on top was watching intently down to the nearby river. "Tris?" Dagonet inquired. "You hear that?" the scout answered with another question. Galahad and Dagonet listened intently, turning their heads left and right. Nothing. Galahad had already drawn a breath to say, that the scout was starting to get paranoid, when a girls scream tore through the silence. They were gone in a dust cloud, following the cries that were clearly coming from the river.

Expecting the worst, they found Seven, a girl from Bors brood, running by the river and flinging her arms over her head. Pulling his horse to a short stop, Dagonet jumped down, only shortly cringing at the searing pain that shot up his bad leg, and knelt down beside Seven. He asked what had happened, but only unintelligible stuttering and hiccups came from the distraught little girl. Finally she pointed to the water. "Fives lost his dagger" The look of the three men followed her pointing index finger and found two arms and a blond mop, that were rapidly carried downstream by the torrential current.

Seeing that the boy stood no change in getting himself out of the river, Dagonet made a dash for him but was stopped by two hands gripping him tight. Tristan was holding him back. "You will drown." he stated. Dagonet looked down at himself and then back at the boy. "As he will!" he said heated. "I have to try!" Tristan objected again. "Not with all that clothes. Think of Lyria." That held Dagonet back. He could not risk letting his heavily pregnant wife behind.

While Tristan stopped Dagonet from running into the water without a second thought, Galahad had dismounted and followed the river by foot. Only a small path was leading though the thicket on the riverside, too small to try with a horse. "Look!" He shouted and pointed to the river downstream from were only Fives arms peaked out. A second figure was in the water, nearing the middle and obviously capable of holding itself above the surface. Dagonet had cradled Seven into his arms and followed the trail Galahad had taken, while Tristan was back in the saddle and went around the thicket to an open point on the river. As Galahad neared the position the figure glanced over at him. "A woman!" he shouted over his shoulder to Dagonet, who just closed the distance. That moment her head disappeared. The rivers surface was flat and untouched again. The men held their breath and it took several blinks and silent prayers until the head with the dark hair broke the surface again, carrying a blond one with her. She made it for the riverbanks and despite the current, the cold and the struggling boy, she managed to reach it.

Having predicted the place of her landing, Dagonet pressed the wailing Seven into Galahads arms and knelt down to reached for the woman in the water, just as she lost her grip on the rocks again. Pulling her up into a secure position he urged "Give me the boy!". She seemed to hesitate at first, but gave in to his demand. Finally dragging a dripping and shivering Five out of the river, Dagonet handed him over to Galahad, who had instantly draped his cloak around the boy.

Turning his attention back to the water, Dagonet caught the last glimpse of dark hair disappearing under water. Quickly he reached out again in hope to grab her, before the current took her away. Leaning dangerously wide over the water, he almost lost his balance. But it was worth it. He caught an arm and pulled the woman back to the surface, gripped for her second wrist and hauled her out of the water with force. Fully stretched she was tall for a woman, and the soaked shift and layers underneath, that clung to her body, revealed a rather thin frame. As soon as her feet hit the ground in front of Dagonet she crumbled to her knees and, leaning over on her hands, sputtered some water onto the grass.

Taking two deep breaths and swiping wet strands of dark hair from her pale face, she looked up and was met by Galahads curious stare. Feeling rather naked and exposed in the presence of fully clothed and, a second look told her that, armed men, she quickly gathered her strength, got up and started down the trail on shaky legs. Hopefully it would lead her back to the tree and thicket, where she had shed held her dress, cloak and shoes.

"Wait!" rumbled the deep voice from the bald headed giant, that had demanded the boy. A look over her shoulder revealed the large frame of Dagonet who hold out one hand in an inviting gesture. "Wait!" he repeated in a softer tone and took two steps towards her. "Who are you?"

She started to hurry "Nobody." she mumbled. _Get away, get away, get away!_ her inner voice yelled.

"You will freeze, let us help you!" Dagonet offered in a voice, that made him loosing some of his intimidating manner.

"Help the boy." She tried to get rid of the man, that was still following her. Did he even realize that he was following a helpless, sodden, half naked woman through a thicket? She swallowed hard, when underlying fears started to surface. A second look back assured her, that the second man with the dark curls had stayed behind with the children. Why does that one have to follow her?

"We will. But we also want to thank you. What is your name, maiden?"

She had to sputter again. _Maiden?_ Did she look like 16?

"Let us take you back to the fort. You will catch a cold when you walk." he offered. "And the healer should have a look at your shoulder. You bumped it on one of the rocks as it seems." He pointed to a big bruise on her shoulder blade, that was visible where only one layer of fabric covered her.

_Bumped it on o__ne of the rocks? Sure. The rocks in your filthy dungeon. Thanks to that pig of a guard that tried to touch __me__ last night. _She hoped, that this bastard suffered more from his broken nose than she from her hurt shoulder. He really had been surprised when she fought back and he did not try to force himself on her a second time.

"Let us get you to the fort." Dagonet offered again, still speaking to her retreating back.

Meanwhile, she had reached the tree and grabbed for her cloak to dry herself off. The man was still on her heels, but did not dare coming too close. Either he did not want to scare her away further or he had discovered a last bit of decency within him. He allowed nothing one would call privacy but at least a hint of respect. Not looking at him, she shook her head in response. Embarrassingly, her stomach chose exactly that moment to make itself known with a low rumble.

"At least for a hot stew? The boys mother is an excellent cook and ..." the obstrusive giant tried again.

That was it. Half wrapped in her cloak she turned around, determined to tell him off once and for all, and met his eyes. How could someone so intimidating look so pleading? Maybe he was not that bad. After all, he had cared for the boy. But then again, she did not know him. She did not know anybody. She sighed and let her shoulders fall. "I am not allowed into the city limits." she half whispered. Confusion showed on the face of her opponent. She rolled her eyes and added. "I am a thief." That shut the giant up. Finally.

She turned back to her clothes and tried to get into her dress. It would be far better to get rid off the shift and undies, dry up and get into the dry dress but with that man lingering here … no way.

"What did you steal?"

She could not believe it. "What?"

"I asked what you stole. You do not deem me as a thief." he repeated.

She still struggled with her dress, but that freezing hands of hers just wont bent the fingers as it should and the laces slipped from her grip again. Annoyance took over. "An apple. I stole an apple." she sighed. Her stomach rumbled again and revealed the cause for her crime.

He smiled a genuine smile at that and said "Come on lass, let us get you something to eat." He took a bold step forward, wrapped her own cloak around her shoulders, closed the clip and grabbed for her remaining clothes.

At a loss of words she just stared. "But I am not ..."

"You will ride with Tristan."

Her brows knitted together in a questioning look. Following the giants pointing finger she saw a rider still on his horse, she had not seen so far. He looked as confused as she did at that moment. "Dag ..." he started to object.

"You rather take a sputtering Five or a wailing Seven?" Dagonet cut him off. Galahad led his horse with Seven already in the saddle and Dagonets horse loosely behind. As soon as the friendly brute had mounted, Galahad handed him the shivering boy and swung himself into the saddle behind Seven.

"Nobody will question you when you ride with Tristan." Dagonet explained his decision. She gave the third rider a thorough look-over. A bow and a quiver where fixed to the side and a small pack of blankets and clothed to the back of his saddle. He was wearing a leather jerkin that held many metal plates … ancient armour covert in ancient dirt. At his back he carried a huge scabbard whose content she only could assume as a huge curved sword. A warrior. Her observation took in the loose braids that where covering most of his face and finally she found his eyes. Fiery ones. No one would question him? No, for sure not.

"Tris?" Dagonet started now to plead his companion, who was annoyed at that, as she had been. Both of them looked at the brute, that wheeled his horse around and was about to leave following Galahad to the fort. She still stood under the tree, her shoes and stockings gathered in one arm, dress still incompletely laced underneath her cloak. A moment she thought the rider would just ignore his companions request but finally he broke his stare at her and rolled his eyes. "Get up." he mumbled. She took a step closer to his massive grey horse, still hesitating. Growing impatient, he took his foot out of the stirrup and held his hand out. _Cold and hungry in the wilderness or warm and fed (or still hungry and in the dungeon) within the city?_ she thought. The rider was almost retracting his offer awhen the woman finally placed her foot in the stirrup and took a firm grip on his arm. He hauled her up behind him easily and kicked his horse into canter almost immediately.


	3. back to the city

Sorry for this short chapter and that it took me so long. I promise to work on my ability to focus on this story. Some scenes for later chapters are chiseled into my brain and I can't wait to write them down but there is a long way to go. Stay tuned and be patient with me!

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Surprisingly she did not cling to him while the horse rocked them back and forth in its soft canter. Neither were her feet dangling on the sides but smoothly aligned with the horses flanks, nor was she bumping into Tristan. At least he would stay dry. But he better stayed alert of where her hands were. A thief was a thief was a thief.

She was silent the few minutes it took them around the city walls to the main gate of the fort. Only then, Tristan felt her presence behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance over his shoulder at the fortress guards. She shrank behind his back, wrapped the cloak closer around her body and shifted closer. She was hiding. As he looked at the guard on duty that himself looked at the passenger behind Tristan, he saw recognition dawning on the other man's face and before Tristan knew it, something happened that no one had dared before. The guard stepped out from his post into his way and blocked the gate after the other two knights had passed. Puzzled by the situation Tristan stopped. Neither Dagonet nor Galahad noticed that they lost their third companion and were out of sight within a moment. Tristan urged his horse on to make a step forward and follow them, ignoring the gesture of the guard, but the soldier used the length of his spear to block the path. His mighty warhorse could have trampled him down, the rider mused a moment. But no, too many explanations to give to Arthur later on and more important … he would not risk injury on his faithful companion on such an occasion.

He settled on intimidating instead. "Get out of my way." he mumbled dangerously, accompanying the undertone threat with one of his deadly stares.

The guard faltered a little but did not give in. "Sir, the woman in your company is banned from this city." he tried to justify his action with an unsteady voice.

So much to Dagonet's 'no one will question him'. Now even the common guards do so. That would be no good for his reputation. If he cared for that drained wench behind him or not did not matter at this moment, he could not give in here. He steered his mount sideways and leaned down a bit to face the guard directly. "'ave to report. You question my intention?" he kept his voice low and demonstratively took one hand from the reins and laid it on his tight, near the hilt of one of his visible daggers.

The guards eyes drifted to said dagger "No Sir, but ..." He drew back his spear and faltered more.

This was Tristan's opening. He pulled himself up tall in the saddle, yanked a bit harsher than usually on the reins and urged his mare forward. Irritated by the hard hand of its master and edgy from the building tension, the horse threw its head high, neighed impatiently and stamped the ground, before setting off in a canter. The guard jumped back just in time to avoid getting his feet crushed by the stone-hard hooves and got a final shove from the giant animals shoulder that sent him back with force.

Angered by the incident, Tristan steered his dappled grey mount through the streets towards the court stables. Passers-by jumped out of his way and sent rants and waving fists after him. Not that the residents were unused to his ruthless behaviour. In fact, most of them stepped aside when they recognized his horse from afar.

_Did he loose his touch? __Wa__s he getting old or what? And everything because of that woman _… He turned his head only slightly to make sure she was still there and did not fall off when he had taken sharp turns through the labyrinth that the growing fort had become. She was still there. And she was still anxious about her surroundings. He ground his teeth and turned his stare back to the alley ahead. One more corner and they reached their destiny.

Tristan stopped his horse on the open courtyard between the stable buildings that held the cavalry horses. Before he could order his passenger to get down, she had already swung her leg over, landed barefoot in the dirt and took a step away from the horse. Without turning his gaze down to her Tristan felt that she was looking at him and waiting for some explanation or order. That was none of his business. He had done as Dagonet requested and it had brought him only trouble. Good friend that he was, but next time he could smuggle thieves into the city on his own.

The big double doors of the stable building ahead opened and Jols appeared. He acknowledged the knight and gave way to him to enter. Tristan made his horse walk right into the building without dismounting, ducking slightly when he passed the doors.

The woman stood still in the empty courtyard and let the only known person disappear into an unknown building. The doors had closed behind him and no one remained. _Great_. She turned around to check the surroundings but she had never been in this part of the city within her short stay here. Plain buildings stood imperiously around the yard like soldiers on their morning muster. The cleanness was in strong contrast to the muddy streets with the sordid houses they had passed trough. A gate with strong metal bars closed the circle of walls and although it stood wide open, no one ventured in or even cast a look. Was this some sort of restricted area?

She shook off her rising insecurity and made her way to one of the big water troughs at the side. Putting her stockings and shoes aside, she opened here cloak a little and finished the front-lacing of her damp dress. Placing one foot on the edge of the basin, she hoisted up the hem of her dress and splashed some water on her shanks to wash off the dust. After using the cloak for drying, she put the shoe back on and started to clean the other leg. Sitting down on the rim of the trough, she started to lace her second leather boot, when a powerful bark erupted the silence of the place. And this sound was far closer than she was comfortable with.

Another bark, an angry growl followed and she stood slowly and turned around to face the main building, into which the shaggy-haired warrior had disappeared. A huge brown brindled monster of a dog emerged from the double doors, that were still off the latch, and leaped into her direction. Its flews were drawn high and white teeth shimmered underneath, the mangy short fur was littered with scars.

No help was in sight and so she did the safest thing, one can do in such a situation: not moving. Not even breathing.

Just as she thought the dog would knock her over, it stopped short, apparently confused by the lack of flight his prey should take by now. She did not look down at the beast that was still growling but at the same time sniffing at her feet while rounding her once and again. She kept her gaze fixed on a spot behind the dog. Carefully she held out a hand, balled into a fist to prevent the loss of single digits, and offered it for more sniffing. The dog looked up from her feet and growled once again. Then it was silent and sniffed at her fist.

"Sorry, I have no biscuits for you." He looked up to her face when she spoke and sat down right in front of her, deciding that she was no threat to his territory. Not that she dared to move, but the fear for her life had vanished. Just as she gathered all courage to take a step away from the brown beast it leaped to its feet again.

"You! What do you …." a demanding voice made her spin around to face the open side of the courtyard. The guard from the gate strode in a fast pace towards her but stopped short as he became aware of the dog. That had fixed its gaze on the new intruder and began growling again and raising its hackles.

The guard knew that only few people were allowed to these stables, he was not one of them and the watchdog was well trained. He looked back up into the womans face and found a smirk. His rage was boiling. First this bitch broke his nose, then his superior officer let her get away with that, then that blasted scout brings her back in and ridicules him in front of his comrades and now this damn dog. He took another step towards her, but as the dogs growling grew louder he stopped again.

The woman turned around, looking for help, but still no one was in sight. Where was the scarred giant? And his curly comrade? And Tristan? Didn't the giant promise supper? She was forgotten very fast as it seemed. The only thing that stood between her and an unpleasant incident with this sick specimen of a soldier was a dog she had feared herself only a minute ago.

The guard pointed his spear to her and opened his mouth to speak but that was more than the watchdog allowed. It leaped forward and snapped first at the spear and then at the shanks of the man. Fearing for his safety the guard finally quit the field. But not without looking back with a stare that promised another meeting at another time. The dog, satisfied with it's victory, stopped growling and turned around to the woman with its tongue casually hanging out between razor sharp teeth.

"Good boy." she praised him. "Good boy. I owe you big time for that." The brown beast, unused to such friendly words from a stranger, began wagging its tail and trotted back to her. She extended her hand again and slightly patted the dogs shoulder as reward.

"Some watchdog you are!" sounded the familiar voice from the scarred giant at the sight of the pair. "Come on lass, let us get you to a hearth fire." he motioned for her to follow. He had not forgotten her. But she had totally forgotten about her drained state and still being excited from the encounter with the dog and then with the guard, she felt only now the cold creeping into her bones.

"My name is Dagonet." he offered while they walked down a narrow allay, Dagonet with the smallest of limps in his gait. When she did not reply, he looked her way. Noticing his glance she answered one-syllable "Ivy"


	4. warming up

Thanks to the readers and those who reviewed. I am not the type of writer who replies to all reviews personally but rest assured I appreciate every single one. They boost my ego. Not that I would need them to keep writing but it for sure makes me updating faster. I especially encourage you to write critical reviews with warnings if one of the character drifts off his usual self, if Ivy becomes mary-sueish, if the plot starts beeing foreseeable ...

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A smile made its way to Dagonet's face. He turned slightly towards the slender woman next to him without reducing their pace down the allay and made to extend his hand. "Miss Ivy, I am pleased to ..." The rest of the sentence was drowned in a bellowing "There they are! Rescuer of my brood …." A big bald man, was storming towards them with his arms wide open.

Ivy stopped short, eyes wide, her smoldering fear from the incident in the courtyard kicked back in. She took a step closer to Dagonet. Dag in turn took a step forward and shoved her behind his back, efficiently shielding her from the approaching bull of a man. He raised his palms to the intruder and said in a low voice as if to sooth a raging stallion "Easy Bors, you scare her."

"Nonsense!" came the curt reply. Ivy peeped around Dagonet's broad shoulders and was met by a grin, that missed one or the other tooth and split a red, heated face almost in two. The bald head sat on a strong neck that led to a massive body. Although shorter than Dagonet, he exuded just as much strength and power. After being properly intimidated Ivy's wrist was grabbed and she was yanked out of her cover and pulled into an embrace. She had no chance to move away, not even to breathe in the iron grasp, that encircled her. Not that she wanted to breathe right now. The smell of sweat and alcohol invaded her senses.

"Bors, set her down!" Dagonet objected emphatically.

The other man only waved his hand and fortunately loosened his embrace in the process. "Yeah, yeah … come on little flower ..." With that he dragged Ivy off further down the allay. With every step a mumbling and rumbling sound came closer and finally they rounded a corner and steered towards a gathering of people, that sat casually on some wooden stools and benches around roughly carved tables. Dagonet followed suit.

"Make some room there!" her captivator bellowed, still dragging her behind. They approached a particular table, its inhabitants did not so much as look up or even interrupt their chatting. A slap from Bors hand to some shoulders let the men inch away and give room just enough for Ivy to squeeze in between them on the bench.

Before it came to that their attention was attracted by another loud intruder. This time it was a shrill female voice and it was undoubtedly directed at the pair, as the massive man shrank several inches at it's sound.

"Bors, you oaf!" the harpy voice yelled.

While the addressed man grimaced, a gloating grin spread on the faces that where seated closest on the bench. Ivy pried around Bors and caught sight of an approaching woman. She was stomping towards them, red hair framing her face like flaring flames and adding to her furious look.

Reluctantly Bors turned to meet his fate. "Vanora, darling, I ..." he began to look for excuses but was interrupted after only three words.

"Shut it! You are not handing her around, while she freezes to death!" The red-head pried Ivys arm away from Bors grip before she even looked into her face. When she had put the now very cautious looking man into his place with another deadly stare she finally met Ivy's baffled eyes and turned sweet and welcoming instantly. "Come on lass. Let us get you to the fire." And again Ivy was dragged behind without a chance to object.

They passed by the length of the table and earned a short look from the group of men. Ivy thought to remember the curly mop of brown among them, but soon she found herself in a messy kitchen and in front of a blazing hearth fire. The red-head pressed her down onto the soft fur next to the blond boy from the river. He sat there already wrapped in a blanket and warming his feet and hands. The aroma of boiling vegetables mixed with the smoky scent of smoldering wood. The source was a big black pot that hung from an iron bar across the fireplace. Looking around Ivy saw a kitchen as she would have imagined it in the middle ages. At last one thing that has been correct in all the historic films she had seen. The rough working surface was heavily used and littered with notches. Atop lay a massive knife, almost a cleaver, among peels, bones and other scraps. Above were hanging several bundles of dried herbs. The walls were lined with shelves that held bowls, cups and other earthenware. A wooden vat held several more, that were soaking in water and obviously waiting to be cleaned. Sweeping her gaze over the worn out wooden floor to the small pile of firewood next to he hearth and finally landing on the blond boy next to her, she was met by an impish grin. He said nothing, nor did she.

The friendly red-haired woman hurried to stir the bubbling soup in the pot and drew a breath to say something. She turned towards Ivy but was interrupted before she got one word out.

"Vanora, honey ..." the bald head of Bors peaked through the door frame but was readily withdrawn, when said woman swung a big wooden spoon in his direction.

"Keep out of women business you peeper!" With three hasty steps she was at the door, threw it shut and locked it.

She turned around and pointed the spoon at Ivy. "And now to you, lass." her voice was way friendlier than before. "I am Vanora, mother of that blond bundle of mischief over there." she inclined her head to the boy from the river. "Troublesome brood he is, but I am still glad to have him." The proud smile of a mother lit up her face. "And for that I owe you. As does his father, that oaf of a ..." the rest was grumbling and mumbling.

Ivy looked up into her eyes and drew her conclusions. That bull of a man was the father of the child and the woman he was henpecked by was obviously the mother. What a pair!

When Vanora was done with another check-up on the evening meal she looked Ivy up and down again. "Get up." she waved her hands for Ivy to stand and as soon as she obeyed, the took the cloak from her. The dress underneath was still damp, as she had not been able to dry herself properly down by the river. Although the close proximity to the hearth fire had warmed her up, it had not really dried her clothes.

"My, my, we have to get you something dry to dress." With that, the red-head grabbed Ivy's hand again and dragged her to an adjoining room.

Opening a trunk she pulled out bundles of cloth. A sideways glance measured Ivy up. "You are tall." Vanora rummaged deeper. Ivy wanted to protest, but the damp fabric that clung to her skin was not a pleasant feeling.

"Maybe that?" Vanora held up a simple linen dress, that reached just below Ivy's knees. "Uh, no way." she answered her own question. Tunics, trousers, and well worn dresses flew out of the trunk onto the bed. While Vanora was still mumbling something about "decent dress" and "brood growing into that" Ivy took one of the trousers from the bed. The sturdy leather had scratches and felt soft to the touch, probably from years of wearing. Holding the piece to her hips, the length was just right for Ivy.

"Maybe I can take these." she voiced her suggestion.

Vanora looked up from the trunk. "These? No. That's not fitting for a woman." She began burying her arms again in the pile of clothing.

"Would be only until tomorrow. When my dress is dry." Ivy really wanted the generous woman to consider it.

Vanora looked up again and her look reminded Ivy of the fact, that women did not wear trousers. At least not for the next fifteen centuries. She herself would not mind but it would be more difficult to blend in with the crowd.

"If you do not mind." Vanora shrugged her shoulders. "My girls are all too short anyway. We will never find a dress for your height in here." With another glance at Ivy, Vanora got up. She grabbed a green cloth from the pile on the bed and handed it to Ivy. "Here is a tunic, that should fit. I will leave you alone to change. Come and warm yourself on the fire again, when you are done." With that Vanora started for the door, but not without sending a curious glance over her shoulder back at the woman in the damp dress. _Somehow she was odd_.

As soon as the door hut, Ivy hurried to get out of her dress and underwear and slipped into the trousers. Although the leather was directly on her skin, it was a pleasant feeling as it hugged her hips. A bit of normality came to her, when she tied the laces on the front. They were clearly cut for a man, straight and without fancy stuff, but for her it was so much more normal to wear them than one of these layered scratchy dresses. Luckily she was build rather slender, there was only a slight curve of her hips and so the trousers fit. Unfortunately also her upper woman attributes were quite humble and the last weeks of meagre food did nothing to improve her lean physique. When she pulled the woollen tunic over her head, she would easily go for an adolescent boy. Nevertheless she reveled in the feeling of comfortable clothing. No tight lacing, no exposed skin, no tangling of limbs in layers of swinging fabric, no freely moving air around her private parts. Almost like home. She would really feel comfortable in these things. Feeling more at ease, she gathered her damp clothing and stepped back into the kitchen.

"Can I put these here?" she asked Vanora and motioned to hang her dress and undies near the fire.

"You sit down and warm up, lass. Leave that to me." With that Vanora took the garments from her arms. "You sure you are fine in these?" she asked again with a look and a wink at Ivy's legs. But as a reassuring smile appeared on Ivy's face and a nod followed, she let go of the womans peculiar clothing preferences. She only shook her head, when she unfolded Ivy's underwear and noticed her shorts and the shirt.

"Ivy it is for you." Ivy finally introduced herself. "Thank you, Vanora? Thank you for your kindness, for lending me clothing and offering a place at your hearth." Ivy's meek voice brought Vanora out of her musings.

_Strange woman, but __polite, _she thought. She smiled at her guest. "Ah, that's nothing."

Ivy sat down with folded legs on the fur next to the hearth and began to untangle her hair bit by bit. She had been in the water, but that could not be considered as proper hair wash. How she missed the sweet-smelling, foaming shampoos, that leave her hair soft and shiny as silk. Little was left of that texture, now that no proper shampoo was available. Not to think of conditioner.

"Here, that might help." Vanora offered her a fine carved wooden comb she had pulled from one of the pockets in her skirts. Ivy took it and began working through her dark strands. Vanora looked at her from time to time, while busying herself with stirring the stew and cutting bread into slices. The sleek dark hair was not uncommon but her facial features somehow did not fit in. Her guest, the rescuer of her child, was not from around here. Maybe not even from this island.

A knock on the kitchen door got the attention of both woman and the blond boy. A familiar voice carefully made itself known. "Vanora, you done? Arthurs 'ere." Bors informed her.

She looked over to the hearth, were Ivy just finished braiding her hair and was about to put on her boots. "In a moment." She answered for her.

Ivy got up and grabbed her cloak. It would be needed without the fire next to her and it would shield her from the eyes of others. She securely wrapped it around herself and drew a final breath. She would have preferred sitting here all night and never getting out into the crowd. If it would be only sitting there and eating but Arthur? Like in 'King Arthur'. Wow, that was too much. The legendary just and generous king, out there, waiting to speak to her and she on the other side a mere thief living off crime and what friendly people would donate to her. She felt so unworthy. For sure he had heard of her thievery and will reprimand her in front of all others.

"Not to worry, lass. Arthur is a kind man. Now get out. I will bring the food in a moment." As if reading her mind, Vanora put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and used it in the same moment to shove her out the now opened door.

Ivy took a moment to take in her surroundings. The sun was low on the roofs of the adjoining buildings and bathed the yard into a warm light. Many men sat in groups around tables with pitchers in hands, some with plates of food. This seemed to be a sort of tavern and is was far more crowded then before, when Ivy had disappeared into Vanora's kitchen. The tables scattered, some under makeshift roofs, some in the middle of the courtyard and few so afar that they were already on the street. She found the group of man, that was waiting for her quite fast, but still remained at the door. They were more than she had expected to meet. Around ten of them were gathered around one big table. Dices were rolled and some liquid spilled from tankards onto the table. Stories were told with sweeping gestures, laugher erupted here and there and from time to time one of the women, that scurried around the table was grabbed and pulled in. This was far too much commotion for her liking. Only when Dagonet spotted her and waved his hand for her to come over, she braced herself and made her way over to that jovial gathering.


	5. in company and yet alone

_Hey all. Thank you so much for your reviews and the numerous alerts. I told myself once I am not doing this for reviews, only for myself but hey, who am I kidding? So please keep on giving feed back. By the way, I managed to complete the story line for this story and realized there are some moments where Ivy might border on a Mary-Sue. I will try very hard to prevent that. Please tell me, if I fail. And another thing: I try to describe things in more detail and my style of writing might change a bit. In return, the chapters get longer as you might see on this one already. Now this is good news, isn't it?_

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Without so much as a glance at her surroundings, Ivy made her way over to were Dagonet and Bors were seated among their friends. Her head down and making wide circles around the other tables she made sure to stay out of reach of groping hands that tried here and there to catch the skirts or smack the rears of other women. Her gaze was fixed on her destination and she tried to figure out who of the men was the fabulous king Arthur, for she had had Bors say Arthur was here and waiting for her to show up. A shiver ran across her back at the thought of meeting a myth, the incarnation of the wise king, or what people back in her time thought Arthur to be. Countless films, books and plays glorified a hero in shining armour. It was difficult to imagine someone so legendary in a wretched place like this.

A look onwards to the men at the table did not help. They all looked alike in their attire. Neither did she see grey hair and a distinguished air around someone nor did she spot any royal insignia. No one wore a crown, no one had a guard with him (at least not one that could be easily identified as such), no one sat on a special throne-like chair, if anything maybe the head of the table. But no, this was occupied by Tristan, who casually rested the heels of his dusty boots on the edge of the table. Not very royal.

Only a few feet away from the table she shifted her attention from guessing who was king to guessing where she should sit. This question was answered, when Dagonet nodded at her and a man who had his back turned to her stood up. As soon as he faced her with a scrutinizing look she felt the authoritative air she was looking for earlier. His piercing green eyes searched her face for something, made a short travel down her body, that was well hidden in the woollen cape, and back up to her eyes again. She shrunk two inch under his stare but held it with open and honest eyes.

After a few moments he inclined his head in a greeting. "Miss Ivy, we are pleased you keep us company on this warm spring evening. I am Arthur." he omitted his royal title when introducing himself.

Ivy did not know how to react. Curtseying would feel strange as he did not even use his own title. Extending her hand would probably be too intimate and violate some sort of protocol. He also knew her name and probably all her deeds.

When Arthur saw her hesitation he motioned to the bench he had sat on. "Please have a seat." he invited.

Ivy settled on keeping it simple. There was some sort of silent agreement between them. All those present knew he was king but he would not display it this evening. "The pleasure is on my side. I haven't been in such … noble company for a long time." She stumbled over the word 'noble' and earned a chuckle from the men at the table.

Arthur himself smiled, pleased by her understanding without the necessity of him explaining that he was among his brothers and did not wish to be superior on this eve. He took his seat again and waited for her to sit.

Ivy opened her cape only to lift her foot and take the step over the bench. She did not see the raised eyebrow of her opposite neighbour when he spotted her leather trousers.

As soon as she had settled down a black-clad and unusual carefully styled man spoke up. "Now to introduce you to the nobility on this table: my name is Lancelot, first knight to the royal highness of these lands."

Ivy eyed him suspiciously. _This was Lancelot? And there men of the 21__st__ century thought they __invented metrosexuality. _His beard was accurately shaved, his black hair looked tousled but at the same time styled exactly in place, his black leather attire screamed 'I am a man and a dangerous one' and he was the cleanest being she had come across in this place. He claimed highest importance for himself without acknowledging Arthur's presence at the table. What a show-off.

His look bore the slightest tint of contemptuousness. In the next moment his attention shifted to the bosom next to him, that lowered slightly next to his head when a rather voluptuous woman refilled his tankard.

When silence settled over the table again Dagonet spoke up and started introducing their other companions. "This is Gawain." he slapped the shoulder of his tawny haired neighbour. "Tristan you know." Ivy's eyes followed the arc that Dagonets arm described. "Galahad" Wasn't that the brown mop of curls from the river? Ivy nodded a silent greeting that was kindly returned. Dagonet swung his arm in the other direction. "Ganis and Jols". Two more names that immediately slipped through the holes in Ivy's poor connect-name-to-face memory. While he named the last two inhabitants of the table, whose names not even registered to her, Ivy's attention shifted back to Galahad.

He was leaning forward to get into her line of sight. "That was brave what y'ave done there." An appreciative inclination of his head accompanied his words. "Ya could have drowned. Why did you do it?"

Ivy did not know what to make of his question. "Why?" she asked back to make she she had not misunderstood.

"Yea, why. Did ya know that midget of Bors?"

Ivy shook her head a no.

"Why then riskin tha life?"

Everyone on the table was listening in and waiting for Ivy's answer. But wasn't it obvious?

"He was drowning." In her eyes it was as simple as that.

Galahad was not satisfied with her answer but what else did he expect?

"He needed help." She added in hope to say enough.

It did not strike Ivy that selfless helping of unknown children was not very common these times. Children in general were not very popular these days. They needed food and clothing but were of little help when it came to the daily business of contributing money to the family's life. In addition the high rate of infant mortality kept the parents from setting their hearts too much on their offspring. Ivy had seen many children running about the fort, being as dirty as the streets, chasing each other, stealing from the merchants. And it was not only the very young ones that were without supervision, also the older ones, that should be in school … school? There probably was none around here. What an uneducated bunch of rowdies! No wonder this city, this land, this whole era was so … so … uncivilised.

Ivy's train of thoughts was interrupted, when Galahad started again "But it was ..."

This time it was Arthur who answered to him. He was pleased by the obvious lack of ulterior motives and Ivy's seemingly unselfish mind. "Galahad, enough. We are glad this incident ended well and I am pleased to learn of your decent traits ..."

Uh oh, there it was coming. Ivy felt the building tension in Arthur's voice. He was going to reprimand her for her delinquency in the market yesterday. In front of all the other men.

"... but it has been reported to me, that you have not always been this fair." A pause. Was he waiting for confirmation from her? She met the kings eyes and did not object to his accusation. She had been stealing, why denying it?

"Nevertheless, I can see you have a good heart and I will connive it this once." he said in a calm voice but it wasn't difficult to imagine a wagging index finger. "You may want to look for work and earn your living like everyone else does."

Ivy bent her head. "Yes sir, I will." But the urge to justify her crime was surging within her and made her add another comment. "But it's not so easily done as said."

"How so?"

"I tried but no one took me on. People around here are not very trusting when it comes to strangers without a guarantor."

Arthur nodded in understanding. "I see. But I trust that today's events will change peoples minds."

With that the topic was done. Ivy hadn't exactly expected a direct job offer but some help would have been nice. Tomorrow she would visit all the grocers and craftsmen again and ask for work and they will kick her out like they had done two days ago. Nothing had changed and even if the gossip of her brave action had reached their ears, the gossip of her bad deed also had. Maybe this city was not the right place to start over again.

"Enough scolding! Now let the girl regain her strength." The voice of Vanora sounded like music in Ivy's ears and the pot of steaming stew, that was placed right under her nose, was the most delicious thing she had ever smelled. Ripping a piece off the slice of bread that accompanied the soup she dipped it in and after a less then appropriate effort of chewing she swallowed it. Her hands had started soaking the next piece and she gobbled that just as fast. After three more bites the most urgent rumbling in her stomach was soothed and she started to take spoons of the soup. It wasn't one of these tasteless cereal and turnip soups that were common among the peasants and that Ivy had learned to appreciate. Besides a lot of vegetables there was also real meat in it and she never minded when she bit on something gristly from time to time, that would have made her sputter back at home. Swallowing without further chewing and relishing the feeling of satiety one got from it was the best option here.

Vanora stood next to her and wore a smirk, pleased by the woman's appreciation of her cooking.

While Ivy continued shovelling the food into her mouth the life on the table, the stories and games, were resumed.

Before she finished her first bowl Arthur stood up and excused himself. "Men, enjoy this evening. Tomorrow serious business awaits all of us. Lancelot, " Arthur waited until he had the attention of his second in command. "We meet in the morning." Lancelot nodded curtly and shifted his eyes back to the voluptuous woman, that meanwhile had taken seat in his lap. With purposeful strides Arthur made his way over to one of the cleaner and more imposing buildings and disappeared within.

While Vanora took Ivy's now empty bowl back to the kitchen to refill it, Galahad took the chance. "So Ivy, you haven't answered yet." Ivy's head snapped in his direction. "Why did you jump into ice cold water, almost drowning in the current, riskin your life for unknown children?" He had to speak up, for the noise around the table had increased with each round of fresh ale.

"No one else did and he was drowning." Ivy stated again. "And besides, I didn't risk my life. I am quite able to hold myself over water as you might have noticed." and looking in Bors direction she added "And you would do good to teach your children how to swim." She inwardly winced as soon as the words left her mouth. She really was not the right person to lecture someone like the burly knight. Fortunately laugher from the left side of the table averted the attention from that fact.

"Bors and swimming? He would drown in a bath tub!" Galahad snorted. The tawny haired knight from next to Dagonet joined in the banter. "Good then, that he never steps into one."

It took Bors a moment to realize the insult but then he shot right back. "'t least my hair collects no scrubs 'n vermin." His hand stroking his bald shaven head.

Dagonet nodded approvingly although he did not keep his hair as short now as it had been during his service as one of Arthur's knights. Lyria, his wife, preferred it short but present on his head and she loved crawling her fingers through it while … that reminded Dagonet of something. He drowned the last sip of his ale, set the tankard back on the table with a sound and stood up. "Brothers, it's time for me."

Pitying noises erupted to his left and to his right. "Ah, the burden of a married man!" the still unmarried Gawain joked. "I warned you, old friend!" Lancelot added in. Then he pointed to Galahad "Let it be a learning experience to you, pup!" reminding the young knight of his intentions on the cobblers daughter. Dagonet just shook his head and took his leave. The sun had set a while ago and Lyria, highly pregnant and anxious, would be waiting for him to return to their small cottage down in the village.

All the while, Ivy had spooned more stew into her belly. As a reserve so to say. Who knows when her next meal would be? She also managed to snitch some of the bread and dried meat from the table and tuck it away under her cloak. She carefully took a look around the table and the tavern while the banter around went on. Lancelot still had that ample bar maid on his lap, Gawain eyed another serving woman, Galahad had a longing look into nothingness, Bors looked into his tankard of ale, Jols and whats-his-name? were engaged in a game of dice and the head of the table was empty as were more and more seats around. Vanora was at the bar and rocked a sleepy child on her hip.

The combination of seeing the small head snuggling into her mothers shoulder, having her belly filled with the best stew in the world and total exhaustion from dragging a child out of a river made Ivy's own eye lids heavy with sleep. Exhaustion was finally claiming her. Just then it hit her that she had nowhere to stay. Two of the best known people to her had already left. Whereas she wouldn't dare to ask Tristan for advice even if a blizzard was raging, Dagonet might have been of help. Vanora was the next best option but as Ivy looked up at the bar again she was gone. The fellows around did not look trustworthy and god knows were they would take her for sleep, or other things. She was on her own again, maybe even better off so.

Without drawing attention to herself she used a heated argument between Galahad and the tawny maned man to withdraw from the tavern. As soon as she had left the dim halos of the torches that lined the tavern, she slowed her pace. Wrapping the cloak tighter around herself to keep out the chilly night breeze she made her way down the street without a destination. Only a thin crescent moon was lighting the lonely allays she passed through. The busy bustling from daytime was gone and replaced by muffled voice from behind closed window shutters. People had retreated into their cosy little privacy and shut the cold and cruel world out. The world Ivy was lost in and desperately looked for her place.

Without paying much attention she had wandered the same way as she and Dagonet had taken earlier and it brought her exactly back to the yard where Tristan had dropped her off and disappeared. The metal gate wings were ajar with enough space to let Ivy in. She slipped through without effort and found herself in the tidy sand place with the imposing buildings and the water trough. And there sounded the familiar growling again. She could not see it yet but somewhere from the shadows the watch dog was moving closer. Would he remember her? Would he be friendly again? Moonlight does the strangest things to creatures minds.

She fumbled for the dried meat under her cloak and murmured soft soothing things to the dog. "Hey boy, you remember me? Look what I have brought for you." Slowly she extended her hand and offered the treat. The growling was interrupted by sniffing sounds and stopped altogether when a wet tongue brushed the fingers that held the meat and then began licking frantically, showering Ivy's hand with saliva. Not long and teeth tried carefully to pry it loose until it was released. The chewing took only a moment, it was swallowed and a cold moist nose inquired for more.

The bribe had worked so far. Turning to a building Ivy took for a stable she encouraged the watch dog in a friendly tone "Come on boy, let's look what you guard here!" Another piece of dried meat let him forget his duty and so he followed Ivy closely to get it. Checking the surroundings once more and being certain she was alone, Ivy slid through the imposing double doors of the central building.

Her guessing was right, it was a stable. A huge one. Soft neighing and puffing greeted her from all directions. The horses in here were much better housed than half of the people out there in town. But then, Tristan had brought his horse to here so it was the stable for the knights and kings horses. And that was what they looked like. With eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight that filtered in trough the windows under the roof, she made out spacious stalls that held huge and well fed horses. Their coats shimmering and their manes well combed. In fact they looked much cleaner than their owners. Some of them were munching away on fresh hay others hung their heads out of their boxes to get a whiff of her scent.

After making a round and checking for other exits, there was one in the back, Ivy tried to find a place to settle in for the night. Although not all boxes were occupied, it was rather not advisable to stay in one of those. She would be immediately discovered by the first stable boy that showed up in the morning. Tilting her head upwards she spotted a hayloft. No ladder was leading upwards but with some effort, one could use the cross-bracing of the adjoining stall. This was even better. No one would suspect someone up there. A confident sigh escaped her and she looked down to the dog, that gnawed at the stripe of jerky in her hand. "So boy, good night then! And do not tell anyone I am here." She released his reward and stepped up to the wooden beams. Her cloak had to go to the hayloft first. Unclasping it and rolling it in a tight bundle she threw it upwards and hoped, that she would really make it up there or her second most valuable piece of clothing would be lost. Thanking her father for her long legs she climbed the way up and finally pulled herself with some effort over the edge.

There was not enough space to stand upright but most of the hay was used up by this time of the year and there was plenty of room for a makeshift bed. Fresh air came in between the tiles of the roof and small rays of moonlight filtered through holes right under the roof rim. The floor was made of rough planks but stable enough to carry her. She chose a spot in the hind corner. Pressing the hay down into a mattress she also piled up some to shield her nest from direct views of stable boys. She settled down on her spread cloak, drew said cloak over herself and covered herself with some additional hay. Wouldn't she be lost in ancient Britain with nothing but the clothes on her skin and no one to trust, this would have been a really nice place for a night.

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Back at the tavern Tristan reclaimed his place at the head of the table. Letting his gaze roam over his comrades the empty seat across from Lancelot caught his eye. Kicking the bench Galahad was perched on rather roughly he got the young knights attention.

"Where is the girl?"

Galahad, having been deep in thought over Aurelia and having consumed enough ale to slow his mind considerably, looked up puzzled.

"The girl!" Tristan emphasized and pointed to the empty spot on the bench. "Where is she?"

Galahad turned his head to the empty seat as if he had never seen one and looked back to Tristan, shrugging his shoulders.

The scouts face turned to the next knight, Lancelot with this curvaceous wanton on his lap, then to the next, Bors, who never saw anything, then to Gawain. He was within reach of his long legs and so Tristan kicked his bench as well.

"What?" came the annoyed reply. Gawain leaned forward to shoot him a look behind the back of the auburn beauty in his lap.

"Wher's she gone" Tristan nodded over to the seat, that Ivy had occupied before he had left.

"No idea. Left." Gawain, always stating the obvious.

With an unsatisfied grunt Tristan turned towards the bar to check for Vanora. Indeed she was there and shot a look over to Bors, who clutched his tankard and waved it at her to refill it again. When she came over and denied him his favourite drink with a rather rude statement and a threat that might prevent the emergence of number twelve in the ranks of their offspring, she also noticed the empty space between Galahad and Ganis. Looking at Tristan as the only sober occupant of this table she asked him of Ivy's whereabouts. He shrugged his shoulders and got up.

Obviously no one here cared to keep an eye on a convicted thief. He would have to make a round through the fort and check the usual hiding spots of beggars and waifs himself.

After the last accessible place for the night, he counted two orphans who swore to have seen no woman, one drunken soldier that had not made it to the barracks and one whore with a costumer that almost spit his ale on his boots when Tristan made his presence known. He would check tomorrow again, she might show up at the market for 'business'.

His last way led him to the stables to say good night to his trusted mount and check, if there was enough hay and if the negligent stable boys had cleaned out her box properly. A soft clicking of his tongue signalled to the watch dog that it was him and so no barking arose. He did not even get up from his lair in one of the empty boxes. The stable was quiet and peaceful. Tristan's mare greeted him with a soft whicker and after a short patting of her neck and mumbled wishes of good night in his native tongue he left through the back door, that led to the armoury and the adjoining knights quarters.

Up in the hayloft mere yards from the box of Tristans mare, Ivy was oblivious of the late night visitor and was fast asleep.


	6. a new perspective

_Hey there! Long (and patient) waiting is hereby rewarded with a long chapter. If you feel a bit lost at the beginning do not worry. Ivy feels the same. You just have to read further and wait for the chapters to come._

_To all the reviewers, alert-button-hitters and hide-and-only-appear-in-the-stats-page readers: thank you so much! Your interest keeps me going! I have to apologise. I am not the kind of writer that replies to every review, neither personally nor in the next chapter. But be assured, I keep reading them over and over again._

_Disclaimer: Ivy belongs to me, the other characters not._

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The melodic drumming of raindrops lulled Ivy in. Only when a familiar voice spoke up, did the blurry clouds of light and dark start to reform into the dimly lit outlines of the highway that lay ahead. Ivy turned slightly in her comfy passengers seat, adjusted the seat belt that ran over her shoulder and turned slightly towards the driver.

"Hmm?"

"Are you day dreaming again, little one?" the man in the driving seat asked without taking his eyes off the street.

Little one. How she loathed that name. She wasn't little anymore. She was grown up, had her own place, was studying serious things and might even get married in the near future.

A long drawn "Daaad!" emphasized her annoyance about the nick name.

"Yeah, yeah. So what now?"

"Hu?" Had he asked something? Ivy hadn't heard anything but the rain and cars whooshing by. Maybe she had been daydreaming. Maybe.

"About Carter." the mid-fifties clarified.

"What about him?"

"Well, you know. Being together some years now, going together on holiday, sharing a flat ..."

Ivy eyed her father suspiciously.

He caught her look when he glimpsed at his daughter.

"I am not the youngest and I want to meet my grand children." he justified his curiosity.  
"Daaad!" An outcry of embarrassment vibrated through the car.

"What? Can you not just marry and finally settle down and start a family? It would really do you some good." A mischievous grin made it to his stubbly face. "Your mother would have loved seeing you married and with a family."

Ivy crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I am 24, Dad! And this is not the fifties. I am not a spinster only because I do not marry my best friend from school at the age of 18 and stay at home to watch our three children, prepare dinner for my beloved one and listen to his stories from the office once he is home."

The irony was not lost to her. Carter was her best friend from school, she prepared dinner for him and listened to his stories from the day. Only the children and house-wife part was missing.

"I want to finish my studies, have my own career, travel the world! I am a modern woman and we modern women do not have to rush this family thing!"

"You call me old fashioned then?" the father was amused by the outburst of his only child.

"Argh! I'm just not like mom was. Besides ..." her voice drifted off. She really should keep her suspicions to herself. She was probably imagining things and there was nothing to it.

"Besides what?" his curiosity spiked up again.

"Well, maybe Carter … I don't know. I have a feeling that he might soon …"

"Propose?"

There it was. The big word. Propose. It was almost as big as 'marriage'. Ivy had never actually spoken it out loud or voiced her hunch to someone else. To whom would she anyway, her mirror? Ivy nodded mutely to the guess of her father but could not suppress the smile that forced itself onto her face.

"Ahh, then it is time for serious talk between men." he stated in a grave voice.

"What?" another embarrassed outcry from Ivy. "No! Don't you dare! And even if we marry that does not mean we start with this baby thing."

"Baby thing?" her father wiggled amused his eye-brows at her.

Ivy's cheeks burned red. "Urgh, enough of that. Watch the road!"

Her father smiled a warm smile at her. His eyes lined with wrinkles from all the times he had laughed and cried in his life, his greyish hair, slightly unruly, gave him a boyish charm and his brown eyes shone with mirth. An ethereal glow illuminated his face. But all to soon and all of a sudden this time-slowing image ended and the following events rushed by in fast forward.

Blinding head-lights, screeching tires on wet asphalt, a prickling shower of glass shards, searing pain and then nothingness. A white room, the smell of disinfectant, tasteless unnaturally red jelly, shaky legs, distaste for mint green clothes, Carter coming and going too soon, one carved stone among hundreds on a green field, lilies, the favourite arm chair of her dad empty, Carter with a pitying face, broken pottery, pain, pain and a scar as if someone had ripped out her heart.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Her own shaking and sobbing woke Ivy up. Her fingers crawled into the underground, expecting to be gripping onto a smooth linen sheet. Spikes pricked on her skin and sent Ivy's mind reeling. Trapped between sleep and wake she tried to get a hold on the situation. The underground was rustling when she sat up and rubbed her eyes. It was dark around her and there was nothing like her usual hospital room. A wide open space surrounded her, light that indicates a not so far off dawn filtered in. Still the sight made no sense to her. And the smell. The smell reminded her of something. Warm, comforting. But what was it?

Soft neighing sounded from below. Straw. It was the smell of straw and horses that was all over the place. Her orientation returned. She was in a stable, up in the hay loft. She had sought shelter in here last night. After she had had supper in the tavern on the knights' table. Knights? Fog was still obscuring her mind. Time to wake up!

The neighing under her improvised bed turned louder, hooves were scratching the earth and kicking wooden stable doors. The horses below turned more and more impatient. Was it because of her? She leaned over the edge of the rough wooden planks of the loft. Big dark figures where moving around in their boxes, pawing. The distinct sound of swishing horse tails could be heard. But no human and no other reason for their unrest could be seen.

Out of nothing a loud voice sounded from outside the building. Ivy could not identify the words but the voice seemed to repeat its mantra over and over again while walking by in the distance. The horses, however seemed to understand. Silence fell over them and all turned their heads towards the massive stable doors. Their ears twitched in anticipation, which infected Ivy as well. She sat at the rim and stared at the door, holding her breath, intensely listening. But nothing happened. At one point she thought the horses were mocking her and would start whickering at her any moment at how stupid she was. Right when the tension left her body and she was about to stand up the door opened with a creak. Out of reflex she threw herself back into the straw and pressed to the ground. Below, the whicker began again, louder than ever and more impatient. A deep animalistic and dangerous growling joined in as well. A boys voice, still young and childish, uttered words that sounded like complaining. The growling shut up at once, when the boy started speaking to the horses with a light slur and raspiness, which probably meant he just got out of bed. Rather unwillingly. Ivy understood only fractions of what he was saying. Not that he spoke too quiet but the language was foreign.

Ivy spied through a gap between the planks and saw a tousled head below. He disappeared under her position. where she heard him rummaging. Then he went over to the first horse with a small bucket in his hands. Before he was able to hang it to the pillar next to the stall door, the horses head was in it and started munching away noisily on its content, obviously its breakfast. The companions in the other stalls complained loudly but shut up when they were served one after another.

While Ivy watched the stable boy work, all memories from the past days came back to her. Ancient Britain. Wow. She was now here, in this century, since three month and still she woke up and expected to be home in a proper bed with clean linen, electric light, corn flakes and coffee for breakfast and all the nice things from her time. Neither had she any idea how she came here nor why. Maybe she had another accident and was back into coma?

When she had woken up four weeks after the car crash, the hospital staff had a hard time telling her what happened. She did not believe one word. She told them she had spent the last days with her dad in the woods, fishing. She had detailed memories of their conversations, of the evenings on the porch, of the burned fried eggs her dad had made. But they denied it. She had dreamt all of it they said. She and him had never made it to the woods. Her father had died on the street and she had been in coma for a month. It took her weeks to accept the truth, lonely weeks in the hospital bed and finally a visit to the cemetery. But even then. She looked down on a stone with her father's name on it but could associate nothing with it. Neither had she said goodbye to her dad, nor had she been to his burial. She had slept and dreamt of their supposed father-daugther holiday while his corpse had been buried in this damp earth. It was so unreal. So unfair. She had prayed to wake up in their little fishing hut, step out onto the porch and find her dad sitting in his rocking chair, crafting flies for fishing. And one day she had. When she opened her eyes she was in the woods. But there was no hut. There was no dad. There was no 21st century. It felt like falling from one dream into another and she couldn't be sure which was reality and which would end at daybreak.

For now, the Roman history of Britain was reality. Rubbing her stinging shoulder she remembered the incident in the dungeon and that she would rather not risk that again. Dream or not, she would take everything seriously. First of all she better not get seen in this stable for it was probably a forbidden place.

The creaking of the stable doors pulled her from her musings. The boy had left. This was the right time to leave unseen before the daily bustling started. Peeking down to check on the beams she used to climb up here, she met the attentive eyes of the brown watchdog. He inclined his head to the side and was waiting for her action.

"Hey boy!" she whispered down to him. "You remember me?" She pulled a stripe of dried meat from her pocket and ripped it in two. Putting one half back as a reserve, she threw the other half down to the dog. Bribing had worked yesterday, why not today? "Breakfast for you!" The dogs nose went to the ground immediately, found the treat and started chewing on it.

Meanwhile Ivy descended from the hay loft and came to stand next to him. He looked up at her expectingly, she looked down at him uncertainly. Slowly stretching her arm, her finger came to rest close to his head, tentatively touching his floppy ears and finally ending up giving him a good scratching. The dog relished in the feeling and wagged its tail furiously. When Ivy moved towards the doors he followed and nudged her hand again. He was more eager to get physical attention than to get more meat. It brought a smile to Ivy's face. Besides Sollin, he was the first one in this world, in this time, who showed affection and interest in her. She took her time to reward him. "You will remember me, hu? Maybe I'll be back this evening and then I will bring you something tasty. Good dog you are." Except for the nightmares the night in the hay wasn't all too bad and the dog would keep unwanted visitors away. That was as long as Ivy thought ahead. It made no sense to contemplate about tomorrow. For all she knew they could throw her into a prison, cast her out of the fort or who knows what.

After dusting herself off and picking single pieces of straw from her hair, she peeked through the slits in the door into the court yard. Behind the houses on the far end faint rays of light indicated soon day break. Opening the door only as far as needed, she crept out and crossed the yard as fast as she could without looking suspicious. Fortunately, the stable boy hadn't returned yet. Passing through the metal gate she turned in the direction of the tavern. The comfortable leather breeches had to be given back to the tavern lady in exchange for her scratchy dress.

Most of the fort was still asleep. Only occasionally window shutters were open to let the stale night air out and the morning light in. Sleepy housewives eyed Ivy but did not bid her morning. When she rounded the corner to the tavern it was the same picture. The empty benches drawn in under the tables, no lit torches, the main building was closed, the windows shut. Ivy would have to wait until someone showed up. Hopefully this was not until the evening business started.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Changing her outstretched position on one of the benches at the side of the tavern yard for the third time she heard a familiar shouting down the street. The voice repeated itself again and again. The mantra from early morning was back. Curiously she waited for the barker. When he neared her position she strained her ears to hear what he was calling. It was a sing-sang where the words melted into each other but she picked up "wake" and "light". It seemed like he was purposefully waking up the town by proclaiming day break. When he passed by he carried a long spear and an extinguished oil lamp but was obviously no soldier. He was the closest thing to an alarm clock the people had in this time.

As soon as he was out of earshot the window shutters of the tavern rattled and the door was flung open. A herd of children poured out into the open space, yawning and stretching their limbs. One of the older girls carried a bucket and strode purposefully towards the street. Spotting Ivy lounging on one of the benches, she turned and shouted "Ma, first customer." Turning back to Ivy, she nodded a greeting which was kindly returned and then left with her bucket followed by two smaller kids.

The red-headed tavern lady exited shortly after. "You are early today, Tris..." Her words died when she spotted Ivy. "Oh, it's you." It did not sound disappointed, just surprised. Hadn't she expected Ivy to show up again?

"Good morning." Ivy greeted in a meek voice.

"Good morning!" Vanora's surprise was overcome. "Where have you been? You just disappeared last night. "

"Well, yes. I was tired and with all the good food ..." Ivy rubbed her belly to give another compliment to the cook.

"Found a place to stay?" Vanora asked while she started locking the window shutters in their open position. "Five! Get some wood, will you?" she ordered by the way to one of the children. Turning back to Ivy she indicated that she was still waiting for an answer.

"I found a safe and suitable resting place for the night." Ivy answered rather vague.

Vanora sensed the woman's reluctance to give her hideout away.

"I came to give back the clothes." Ivy clapped her hands on her leather-clad tights to avert Vanora's attention.

"Come in then. Your dress is dried."

Ivy followed Vanora indoors, where the boy from the river was unloading logs of wood from his arms. She changed in the same room as last time after Vanora had ushered the last small sleepy head from the beds. Reluctantly she peeled the leather trousers off her skin, folded them neatly and put them on the big wooden trunk they had been in yesterday. The thin self-made linnen underwear took their place, covered by the scratchy dress. When the laces were tied up, Ivy took one deep breath and went back to the kitchen, determined to ask Vanora for a job.

A small fire was crackling in the hearth, a pot was hung over it and the girl from earlier was about to pour the content of her bucket into it. Milk as it turned out. "And don't stop stirring!" she instructed her younger sister who stood eager to help. The smaller brown haired girl nodded dutifully, stepped up a small stool and dunked the big wooden spoon she held into the milk. Meanwhile Vanora bustled around and collected various jars and a heavy bag of oat flakes. The older girl started measuring cups of oats for the porridge and poured them into the pot.

Ivy felt a bit awkward, standing on the side while everyone else clearly had a task. "Erm, Vanora?" The red-head turned to her with a pile of small bowls in her hand. "May I have a word with you?" Vanora inclined her head to the door. Walking out to the customers area after Ivy, she sighed inaudibly, sensing what the foreign woman will ask of her.

They both came to stand on opposite sides of one of the tables. Still a bit reserved and missing the right words, Ivy decided to bring her request straight forwards. "I am looking for work and I wondered if you where hiring staff for the tavern." The look on Vanora's face told her the answer before she even drew a breath to form the words.

"I am sorry, but no, lass. I am not hiring." Ivy nodded her acceptance to the negative answer. "See, I have plenty of help at the moment" - partly due to the strays Dagonet and Arthur himself kept dragging in here, she thought to herself. "There might be occasions where an additional hand is welcome but that is nothing to rely on. There is plenty of work in the fort and I am sure you will find some." Ivy knew herself that she wouldn't find any. She had tried some days ago before the apple-incident in the market and every door she knocked on had been closed in her face. Like she had told Arthur yesterday: if you knew no one and no one would recommend you, all tries would be futile. The look in the tavern owners eyes told her she thought the same. Although Ivy had the feeling Vanora's reasons for rejecting her were true and not something she had made up.

"You know what? Have some porridge with us and get some energy." The motherly words – her own mother would have offered hot chocolate – comforted Ivy and made her feel at least a bit welcome in this cold world. She nodded and helped to set up the table for the break fast company.

While Vanora checked on the cooking two of her daughters were undertaking, a smaller girl dragged Ivy back into the kitchen from shelf to shelf. She indicated to bowls, jars and cutlery she was not able to reach with her short height. Ivy complied willingly and handed everything down. The girl, Seven, was exhilarated that she could order a grown up around and her flat breast swelled with pride and importance. Ivy smirked when she was instructed where to set which bowl and who would get which spoon. Obviously every one of the siblings had their own preferred set.

Not long and the herd of children surrounded the table like a swarm of hungry locusts. Only when Vanora and her eldest daughter hauled the steaming pot to the middle of the table, they all took their seat. As organised as the table ware was, also the order of who got first his food was set. The youngest first and the oldest last. Probably because the youngest could whine the loudest and had to be shut up first. While Vanora was still filling bowls, that where handed to her, others started adding fruits, jam, honey or nuts to their porridge.

When Ivy handed her bowl over to be filled, the boy next to her snatched it from her fingers. "No, no! Not this one!" he exclaimed as if she had touched a sacred relic. It was placed at the head of the table and remained empty, while she got another one. Just as Ivy wondered where Bors would be, Vanora nodded to someone behind her back. "You are late this morning." Expecting the father of all the children to join them, Ivy was surprised when she heard a rather low voice with a slight lilt to it instead of the booming Bors.

"Was on patrol."

Her suspicions of it's owner were confirmed when Tristan stepped up to the head of the table, took the sacred bowl and filled it with porridge. As soon as he took seat, a jar with plum jam was passed over to him by one of the kids.

Ivy send him a sideways glance. However short it was, Vanora had noticed.

"Tristan is the only knight who appreciates my porridge." she answered the unspoken question. "Bors rather has eggs, ham and bread and not this 'children's meal' as he calls it. Whereas our scout here has a sweet tooth." Tristan's constant shovelling of porridge to his mouth stilled half way. He glared at Vanora as if she had insulted him but only got a hearty laugh from her in response. Grunting something inaudible he continued relishing his morning meal.

Indeed Tristan had been on a self-imposed patrol within the fort this morning. He had checked every nook and cranny and was rather surprised to find the person he was looking for on Vanora's break fast table. She had changed back into her own clothing and blended in with the crowd of Vanora's offspring. Where she had stayed the night remained unknown to him. So far.

The break fast went past without further surprises. Vanora pointed out where Ivy could ask for work. The bakery might need a helping hand, the seamstress would loose one of her girls to marriage, the pottery might be a place and the list went on and on. Almost all of them Ivy could mark with a 'did that already'.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Nevertheless she went to seek all of them out again but her fears were realised. There was everything from a friendly decline over a rough reply to mocking glares with no words at all. The fruit and vegetable merchant she stole the apple from even raised a stick from the distance and threatened her to come any closer. Embarrassed when town folks turned to look at her she retreated from the market. It was pointless. No one would hire her.

After half a day of futile attempts to find a position, she headed back to the tavern. At least her knowledge of the forts layout had improved. If this would be of any use to her remains to be seen. Currently she was walking down the third street that led to the tavern. Open work shops lined the sides. Business where she does not even bother to ask for a job. Men's business in these times. A pile of wooden beams tinted the air around the carpenter's shop in pine. Further down it smelled of charcoal and heat. The melodic sound of metal hitting metal and swishing, when something hot was drowned in water, indicated a smithy. And indeed, when she peered to the furnace a big man with a leather apron was handling red glowing metal sticks. When he turned to grab his mighty sledge hammer Ivy recognized Dagonet's face. He did see her at the same moment and put down his hammer again to come and greet her.

"Miss Ivy, I am glad you see you well. How is your search for work going?" he inquired friendly.

Ivy rolled her eyes. "Good day to you, Dagonet. I think I knocked on every door. Well, almost ..." She looked at him with a glint in her eyes and then peered around his smithy. "You do not happen to need a woman's hand in here, do you?" It was half meant as a joke. Of course he would decline. A smithy was no place for a woman, not even in the 21st century.

Dagonet's reply was a rumbling laugh but he started to shuffle nervously from foot to foot when he saw the serious mask Ivy had set up. "Erm … well … you see … a smithy is no place ..."

She cut him off to put him out of his misery. "I know. Do not worry. I did not ..."

"Will you be nice!" a shout from around the corner drew their attention. The answer was loud whicker which seemed to argue with the other voice. Moments later the stable boy rounded the corner with a sideways dancing young stallion behind him. The horse threw it's head to get rid of the restricting rope on his halter and tried to break out every now and then. However, he seemed not to be malicious. No biting, no prancing, no rearing, no stallion manners, just youthful disobedience.

As soon as the boy half dragged the horse, half been dragged by it to the smithy, Dagonet took the stallion by the halter and started rubbing his forehead, whispering silent words into his ear. The animal calmed down instantly and only lightly protested, when it was led to the stand. "You can go now." He waved the boy away, who retreated thankfully. It felt as if Dagonet had welcomed a young family member. He was focused totally on the animal and the previous discussion with Ivy was forgotten.

"He is about to get his first irons." he started to explain to Ivy without stopping to pet the horse. "Pretty nervous, are we?" he spoke to the stallion, whose ears twitched in response. The knight for sure was a horse person, as you would say. Ivy herself wasn't inexperienced with horses. Indeed she had had her teenage girl horse riding period with lessons and all but that had ceased with the beginning of her studies. From time to time she would go on a hack during holidays. However, young stallions where a different story. She wasn't even sure if she had ever met a stallion for mares and geldings where the most common in her time. There were only stories of how hard they were to handle and how impossible it was to keep them together with other horses on a ranch with riding school business. The dark grey youth in front of her and it's revelling in the smiths caresses did not seem to fit in with that rumours. Tentatively Ivy took a step closer and stretched her hand to pet his neck. He let her and Dagonet nodded approvingly.

"Is he going to be a war horse?"

"Yes, he is. He was bred for it from my brothers' horses and he is going to succeed one of them in a few years." With brothers he probably meant knights? So Dagonet had been a knight too?

"His training started this spring and he will need irons for the work to come." Dag explained further. "And this is why you visit my smithy, isn't it, boy?" he spoke to the stallion like to a child.

"Dag?" the two where startled by Tristan who appeared in front of the smithy seemingly out of nowhere. "Arthur called a council meeting. He asked for your presence."

Dagonet looked to Tristan, then to the horse, then to Ivy. "You take him. I will be back soon. He is a lamb, really." He pulled Ivy to the horse's head, where she automatically put her hands to the halter. Faster than she could object, he clapped the stallions rear, left the stand and walked past Tristan. The scout, however, did not turn to follow his former brother in arms. He stood rooted to the spot and narrowed his eyes on Ivy and his soon-to-be charger. Ivy in turn concentrated on the horse.

"Tris, you comin?" Dagonet called back over his shoulder. The Scout followed him rather reluctantly. He was not pleased to leave the horse he almost looked at like a son, since it was born by his own mare, to the hands of a foreign woman. Dagonet might have a good sense when it comes to the human nature but you do not have to challenge it. Unfortunately, they had been summoned and other than meeting a stable boy on their way to the council hall, there was no fast way to get a substitute. At least Tristan could be sure she would not be able to leave the town with his horse.

When the two men left, the stallion turned his head in their direction and knocked Ivy almost over in the process.

"Hey there! That's not nice." she chided.

Dragging his head back on the halter she saw his eyes widen. The breath came in shorter puffs.

"Oh please don't bolt!" She pleaded and tried to calm the horse by giving it long strokes to the neck. She continued to plead and reason and bribe the stallion with soft words and did not even recognize that she fell into her own language. It all melted into an enchanting murmur, encompassed by fingers crawling through the thick strands of a dark grey mane.

In a short time the horse's head hung low, it's ears turned to the side, the eye lids droopy, and Ivy rested her head against his neck, relishing in the warm earthy scent and the silken feeling of its coat, still murmuring stories about horses that had taught her to ride and administering hypnotising slow strokes. They both seemed under a spell.

This was how Dagonet found them upon his return. He watched a moment from the street before he interrupted. "What are you telling him?"

Ivy was brought back from her memories instantly. "Hu?"

"Never mind. You still seek work?"

Ivy nodded. "Yes. Why?"

"You meant your offer to me earlier this day?"

_No, of course not. I can not even lift half of your equipment. What shall I do in a smithy?_ This was what Ivy thought. But out of her mouth came "Yes, of course."

"Now, this might be unconventional and it is only for some weeks but if you think you can manage, I will have work for you." Dagonet declared.

No response from a baffled Ivy.

"Here." He made a gesture to indicate his smithy.

Still no response. Just as the situation was about to become awkward and Dagonet felt like being a fool, a smile lit up on Ivy's face. "You mean it? I can work here?"

Dagonet nodded and outstretched his hand which Ivy shook enthusiastically.

* * *

_Working in the smithy? Yes. It might feel like not fitting / impossible for a woman in this time. And indeed it is. You will see/read in the chapters to come. Hey, at least she is not working in the tavern (yet)._


	7. down to business

_When Dagonet and Tristan left Ivy and the stallion in the smithy to attend the council meeting:_

"Tris, you comin'?" Dagonet called over his shoulder without stopping his walk. The knight in question hesitated a moment longer but then turned and followed his former brother in arms. With long fluid strides he caught up to Dagonet and slowed down to his pace.

"Don't like that." he muttered without further explanation. His friend knew what he meant anyhow.

"She can manage and she will not make a run for it." Dag said with conviction. "She just needs to know that she is trusted by others."

"Dag, you know nothing of her." Tristan stated matter of factly.

"Well she is selfless, friendly, honest ..." he started to list.

"Dag." Tristan interrupted. "You have to stop draggin in strays."

"She's not a dog, Tris. And besides, the last stray I dragged in made a beautiful wife." he reminded his friend of the origin of his wife and soon to be mother of his child. "Maybe this one 's for you." he added light-hearted and clapped Tristan's shoulder. His joke earned him a glare and silence on the remaining way to the council hall. Enough time to wonder why he, Dagonet, was invited to an official meeting where he no longer was a knight. From time to time Arthur seeked a private discussion or his opinion on something but not in the council hall. Always in private.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

As they entered the hall Dagonet had to check himself not to stroll over to his old seat at the round table. This chair now belonged to one of the younger men who were recruited as knights after the battle with the Saxons at Badon Hill. Arthur had proclaimed a united Britain and soon started to fill the ranks. Half of the Roman century, already with family and attachments to the country, had stayed and vowed their loyalty to Arthur, king of Britain. The empty places at the round table were filled one by one with promising young man from all over the country, a mixed bunch ranging from well educated Romans over ambitious British and even some Picts from the north. All eager to prove themselves worthy and to help building a kingdom for their people. They went through a rough training by all of Arthur's knights and although Dagonet was not longer a knight, released from service before most of the younglings had arrived, they looked upon him with the same admiration as they held for their officers. Once a knight always a knight.

The same look hit him now where his disobedient feet had carried him over to his familiar seat while he had been musing. The young man in tidy uniform with embroidered lions on his chest, who was about to sit down on this very chair at the same time, hesitated. Both of them had one hand on the back of the chair. He knew Dagonet and he felt insecure. Could he deny the legendary man who had fought on Arthur's side for over a decade his place on the round table? Casting a last look at the familiar markings on the wood at his place, Dagonet nodded a greeting to the young man and retreated to the chairs that had been placed at one of the walls. _A seat in the back row_. It took a little effort to quench the uneasy feeling and a reminder that being not a knight also meant not to fight.

Now that he took seat he noticed the other council guests. Next to him sat Olvin the fletcher, Keir the tanner, Alestair the saddler and Gwyr the carver, all craftsmen and curious as well why they have been summoned. The whispering among them ceased when Arthur entered the room and all occupants of the round table rose. Unfamiliar with the protocol they looked over to Dagonet, who was already on his feet and then rose quickly.

"Knights! Guests!" Arthur's authoritative voice filled the room. "Please, take seat."

Everyone sat down again. All attention focused on the king.

"We have come together to discuss manpower and equipment of Britain's army today. This is why I invited you here." He nodded towards the guests in the back row. "You are capable craftsmen widely known for the quality of their work. Although the court has its own skilful workmen, the task at hand exceeds their capacities. More weapons, more armour, more saddlery is needed. My commanders together with the royal armourer and the blacksmith made a list of what will be needed. I ask you if you are willing to accept an order that will keep your business running for the next year. But I warn you, once you agree I expect on time delivery of flawless goods." Arthur's voice made clear he would take no excuses but the promise of continuous work and income for the invited craftsmen outweighed possible consequences in case of failure. None of them had any experience beyond day to day work and the usual customers but none of them was ready to let such an opportunity pass.

The pause in Arthur's speech was getting longer and longer. Where they expected to answer now?

"If you need to think about it you may have your time, but let me be clear: this is confidential. You will talk with no one about my offer." Arthur added.

"My king, may I speak?" Gwyr the carver said meekly.

"You may."

All eyes turned to Gwyr, who stood and had to swallow the lump in his throat. "Your offer honours us and our craft and I am sure we all are happy to comply. But can you tell us in more detail what is expected of us? I for my share have an apprentice but if you tell me to make spears, bows and arrow shafts for every soldier in Britain it will take me until I am old and grey to finish. I would have to cut down half of Badon's forest to ..."

He went silent when Arthur lifted his hand. With a smile on his lips he said "Of course you need to know more. The weaponry stays with the court's blacksmith but you will make the simple things we need in big number. Arrows, spears, holstery. But be not mistaken. Simple does not mean I do not expect best quality. You will be paid partly before you start work so you can buy material and may employ another apprentice. Brecan, my treasurer will give you exact numbers. Discuss this matter with him and tell him if you agree until tomorrow evening."

Gwyr nodded, as did his companions.

"And now you may excuse us for the rest of this meeting. Brecan will find you afterwards."

Dagonet took the clue first, rose to his feet and made his way to the door, followed by the other craftsmen. As soon as the double doors closed behind them the council meeting proceeded in secrecy.

Their excited talking started immediately. "To equip an army! That will earn me another two acre of land in the west of my farm." Olvin declared.

"And I can finally get my leaky roof fixed and find my four girls good husbands with a dowry like this." Keir joined in. Gwyr was already doing the maths in his head how many arrow shafts he could do per week and what he would earn.

Dagonet in turn was thinking on how he could ever shoulder this amount of work. Sure he would not decline the offer. It brought wealth and more work to him and his growing family. But it meant that he needed to buy more metal, forge it, sharpen it. He would have to get Gwellyn, his apprentice, back from his parents farm in the west sooner than planned. He could not stay all summer until the harvest. Lucan would need to help more with the wood and the coal for the fire. The coal! Wood needed to be brought to the char burner soon to have enough char coal for the forge. It was so much work and all this now, when Lyria was about to give birth to their first-born. He definitely needed more help.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The voices around Dagonet were dropping away one after another, when his companions turned to leave for their own work shops. Just as he arrived at his smithy everything was silent besides the far away murmur from the tavern and a silent enchanting whisper. A voice, low and soothing, was telling secret stories. It was Ivy that Dagonet had left alone to watch Tristan's stallion. The big horse's head hung low, eye lids half closed, ears relaxed to the side, and was enjoying the long strokes the woman was administering to his graceful neck. Dagonet strained his ears to understand what was said but the syllables made no sense to him.

"What are you telling him?" he asked.

Ivy startled. "Hu?"

"Never mind. You still seek work?"

Ivy nodded a little disoriented. "Yes. Why?"

"You meant your offer to me earlier this day?"

"Yes, of course." she confirmed.

"Now, this might be unconventional and it is only for some weeks but if you think you can manage, I will have work for you." Dagonet declared. "Here." He made a gesture to indicate his smithy.

After moments of silence Ivy found her voice again. "You mean it? I can work here?"

Dagonet nodded and outstretched his hand which she shook enthusiastically. "Come in! I'll show you around." He stepped ahead into the half open workshop, went around the massive anvil and stopped at the furnace on the opposite side. "So, Miss Ivy, have you ever been in a smithy?"

Ivy went a bit pale. "Um, no. But I have heard many stories."

_Rather seen many documentaries._

"Stories? You have to tell them to me then."

Ivy nodded mutely and remained at the entrance.

"I just got a big order." Dagonet started to explain. "My apprentice, Gwellyn, is at his parents farm. I will send for him but he will be back no sooner than in a fortnight or two."

_Surely he did not expect her to take over the work of an apprentice?_

"My son, Lucan, is around in the afternoon and cares for the firewood, the coal, the water. You will help him with this. And for other tasks, we will see how skilled you are with your hands."

_What?_

"Fire has to be started at sunrise and when the coal has the right heat, we start to work." Dagonet continued.

"Okay."

"Oke?"

"Uhm, I mean yes, I understand." Ivy corrected her 21th century slang. Now there was only one more thing to ask, but how to voice this question? It isn't as it was an improper topic but she did not manage to look into Dag's face. "What about the, uhm, the wage? I … I will need to buy food and … when can I expect to ..."

"I will cover a daily dinner for you at Vanora's. I cannot have you staggering around the smithy with a rumbling stomach. The rest you get at the end of each week."

Dagonet stopped talking and looked at Ivy, Ivy looked back. It made no sense to her to haggle over the wage as she had absolutely no clue what an average wage might be. So it was a welcome interruption, when a boy of about 13 turned up on the door step.

"Ah, there he is. Lucan, come over here." Dagonet waved the boy in, who had his eyes on Ivy. "This is Miss Ivy. She will help us here at the smithy until Gwellyn is back." Dagonet introduced. Ivy extended her hand but was rewarded only with a sceptical look.

"Help at the smithy?"

Ivy's hand sank lower. Had she really expected acceptance? Even a boy of this age knew this was not a place for a woman. Finding his father here in his workshop with a foreign woman and telling him she will work here … it sounded like a lame excuse for being walked in upon something forbidden … Ivy's mind went into overdrive like it always did, when she was insecure. The boy didn't think something was going on here, did he? His look might suggest he did. Did Dagonet think … did he expect her to …?

A firm grip on here hand brought here back to reality. The boy's eyes were still searching her face but he seemed to accept what his father had told him. For now at least.

"I will go and fetch wood." he stated after releasing her hand.

Ivy took the chance to take initiative. "I will come with you. If I am to help out, I can as well start with fetching wood."

Dagonet nodded approvingly and the boy turned to leave. After grabbing a pannier he turned down the street to one of the side gates of the fort without looking back at Ivy. If he walked that fast on purpose, she could not tell but thanks to her long legs she had no trouble keeping up with his long strides.

"Lucan, if I got that right?"

"Hmm." he murmured. _What to talk about to break the ice?_

"Where are we going?" _Smooth Ivy. You go and fetch wood. He told you 10 seconds ago._

"Up there." He pointed to a point beyond the southern walls of the fort. As soon as they passed the guard at the small southern gate, they followed a muddy, beaten path towards a few huts at the seam of a light copse.

Maybe it was because he felt impolite in his ignorance towards her, but after a few more steps Lucan added a comment without being asked, but also without turning towards Ivy. "It is not allowed to store much wood inside the fort. Risk of fire it would pose."

Ivy took it as invitation to keep the conversation running. "So you get wood every day from up there?"

Lucan nodded. "And water from down the stream. At least four buckets a day." He rolled his eyes. "Father says its better for the iron than the water from the well within the fort." The undertone might as well have been from a 20th century teenager, that resented mowing the lawn every two weeks.

The huts were not inhabited and seemed more like storage space. Lucan stepped up to an especially shaky looking one and reached into a crevice between two planks above the tiny door. With the thin metal rod he produced from there he angled between the door and the door frame and expertly unhooked the latch, which closed the door from the inside. "Father likes to keep things locked up. Lots of wood was stolen last winter and then he rented the hut and put stuff in here and locked it up."

"From the inside." Ivy acknowledged.

"Yeah." Lucan turned to her. "You must not tell anyone how to open it!" He added gravely after realising he had just given away the secret.

"I swear." Ivy assured.

Inside the hut it was dark. Sparse light fell through the crevices in the wooden plank wall. No window. To the left and to the right were roof high stacks of chopped and well dried wood. Lucan handed Ivy a small jute sack and pointed to the darkest corner. "Get some coal. I take the wood." Ivy squeezed in between Lucan and the wood, careful not to rip her dress on the rough edges, and grabbed black pieces of charcoal. The full sack weighted almost nothing in contrast to the pannier Lucan heaved onto his back. After re-locking the hut they made their way back in silence.

Dagonet was in conversation with another man as they approached and as it turned out it was Tristan. He had his hand rested on the stallions croup and sent her a strange look as if they were talking about her. Ivy tried to ignore it and just followed Lucan's instructions to put the charcoal into a basket next to the furnace and to help him pile the wood. It felt a bit strange to be ordered around by a half-grown boy under the eyes of the two men but as long as it bought her food, she did not mind. So she took the bucket Lucan handed her without hesitation and followed him to the stream she had rescued the children from. Was that only yesterday? Things could change so fast in this world.

x-x-x-x-x-x

When they returned to the smithy the second time, Ivy with a dripping wet hem on her dress, the water was poured into the stone trough next to the anvil. Tristan and the horse were gone. Lucan excused himself to attend some lesson. Ivy did not understand him completely, still lacking some words in her Latin vocabulary, but decided against asking Dagonet. It might have come across too nosy. Instead she listened carefully to her new boss when he explained how to use the wet stone. He made her sit onto a block of wood and was expertly guiding a rough iron arrow-head over the wet stone in front of her. "You need to take off the burr and make them smooth. For sharpening you take another stone and for the finish a very fine one." Splashing some more water on the stone surface he continued to make long, scraping strokes.

"I see." Ivy signalled her understanding.

"They do not need to be as perfect as a knife, but as best as we can make them. And we will make a lot of them." With that he placed a wooden box full of blanks next to her.

Ivy took over the raw arrow-head from Dagonet's seemingly to large hands and began to imitate his long strokes over the stone surface, careful to hold the piece of metal at the same angle. Dag nodded approvingly and went over to the furnace to stir the fire and put some more charcoal on.

So this was it. Sharpening arrow-heads day in and day out. Her arms would be sore by the evening and this hard tree chunk she had to sit on was already bothering her after ten minutes. The cushion she had made from her folded cloak was a feeble attempt to improve the situation. But she could not sit on the dusty ground with her dress. This bloody piece of clothing. She had almost ripped it on the wood stack, dunked it in the river, made a dirt crust onto the hem by walking back from the river and she was not looking forward to climb the hay loft with it this evening. Yes, she had to get back to the stable for her night's rest. Where else should she go? Surely the wage would not be enough to pay for lodging. But maybe it would pay for some breeches? She should get back to Vanora for that this evening.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The evening came sooner than expected. Ivy had managed to process three arrow-heads to Dagonet's satisfaction but was barely able to stand up from her cowering position. With stiff legs and heavy arms she followed Dagonet to the tavern, but to her surprise he handed her over to an already busy Vanora, bid his goodbye until the next morrow and left without taking dinner. Vanora however, was strangely mustering Ivy from head to toe and was changed in her demeanour from the morning. The open hearted woman was now somehow reserved.

"You work in the smithy now?"

Ivy nodded mutely.

"Mhmm." Vanora raised an eyebrow. "Dagonet covered for your meals for the week." She sounded somehow suspicious. "Stew will need some more time. You can sit here." She pointed to one of the benches in the still empty tavern and turned towards the kitchen.

"Maybe I can help you until then?" Ivy offered. "It's not that I have something else to do."

Vanora hesitated but finally nodded her approval and appointed her the task to chop cabbage.

The evening went by smoothly. Although Ivy felt watched from every corner and suspected gossip about her in every conversation, no one approached her. She could eat her stew in a silent corner with a good overview over the other guests and the loud table of the knights in the other corner of the tavern. A constant flow of ale was brought their way and a flock of barmaids and dubious women was swarming around their table like moths around the light. It should be no problem to leave the tavern unseen. Just as the voices over there turned into a roar and someone started to tie a bar stool to a post, all attention was diverted to two knights who claimed to be the best in something. Ivy slipped the two spare slices of bread and a good chunk of cheese into the bundle of breeches and tunic Vanora had agreed to sell to her. A last look around and she sneaked out onto the dark street. No encounters were made on the way towards the stable and the watchdog thankfully remembered her, took half a slice of her bread as new bribe and revelled in the attention he received once they were safely inside the stable. The climbing of the hay loft in a dress was indeed a challenge but the risk in being caught while undressing down here? No. Once up on the higher level, Ivy rebuild her nest in the hay with her cloak and changed into the breeches. They would allow for a faster flight should she been caught.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Back at the tavern a sulking Galahad pulled his dagger and the one embedded in its hilt out of the bar stool.

"Will you never learn, Galahad?" Gawain teased him.

Galahad sent him an offended glare and handed one of the daggers back to Tristan, who stood at the back wall of the tavern. "One day I will get you!" he announced to him and then turned back to his seat and his waiting ale. Tristan slid the dagger back into its sheath and the won two silver coins into his pouch, knowing this day would never come and Galahad will never learn. But it was always a welcome distraction.

When he let his gaze roam the tavern again from his corner seat the lope-sided smirk slipped from his face. It had happened again. That stranger had disappeared without him noticing it and the track got colder every moment he hesitated to follow. Downing the last of his ale Tristan got up and stepped onto the street. No trace of the woman to the left nor the right and foot prints would tell him nothing in front of a bustling tavern. Sure he could ask one of the bar maids if they had seen anything but ask for a person if you were the scout? No way. So his pride let him pick one of two options: left or right. He decided for right but it did not really matter. Ivy was already sound asleep in her little nest up in the hay loft with a guard on four paws in the stable below.


	8. routine is creeping in

_New day, new try_ – Tristan thought as he trotted towards his breakfast at Vanora's table. He did not know exactly when he had started this ritual of taking in his morning meals with the fiery redhead and her brood and why. He used to tell himself it was because the kitchen maids at the mess were not up as early as he was or that their porridge always had a bitter after-taste but in fact, he enjoyed the lively bustling at Vanora's table. The kids looked up to him as a respects person but they did not fear him. They made no effort to avoid him or make a wide arc around him. No, they kept hiding behind his legs or stumbling over his feet when chasing each other around. He used to throw them a warning scowl then, but nobody really seemed to take that as a threat. It felt a little like family life, although he knew it was not his own family. Nevertheless it was welcome, that Bors was absent most of these mornings.

Today he had risen from bed early to be on time for the stranger's arrival. He mused she might show up again for a bowl of porridge and Vanora was not the woman to deny someone else that little help. If she indeed turned up, he would at least get an idea from which direction she had come and this might lead him back to her hiding spot. It was not that the woman in particular interested him or he suspected some evil from her side. She was only another stray who tried to survive. It just irked him that she had managed to evade his supervision two times; and he did not like the idea that there might be a place in the fort he did not know of. A blind spot always posed a problem.

When he strode towards the tavern he met Vanora's eldest daughter with a clay jug in her hands on the way to fetch milk. She bid him morning, he nodded in return. When he arrived the other siblings were about to set up the table and he heard Vanora's voice calling out commands. She and Bors had created a small army of their own, a force to be reckoned with when set loose but strictly obeying when under their mother's command. However, the stranger was not among them and a peek into the kitchen told him, she was not here at all. Good. Then he could indeed see from which direction she would approach and due to the early morning hour, he might even be able to track back her foot steps in the street dirt. Waiting for his prey, he seated himself at his usual place at the head of the table and waited while the table was filled with tableware and the benches alongside with children.

With the chatting of the brood in the background it was difficult to hear but if he strained his ears, he could make out women's voices coming from the allay to his right. A moment later Van's daughter rounded the corner with the filled milk jug in her arms and the stray in tow. Seeing the two next to each other, Tristan realised the first time how tall the stranger was, at least one head higher than Van's offspring and Two was not on the short end of the scale either. Her dark hair was tied back and the slightly higher than average cheek bones and the rather narrow than round eyes were more noticeable then before and betrayed her foreignness. Next to Van's blossoming young daughter she looked older. The dark circles under her eyes and her ashen face might age her beyond her years but her youth was definitely gone. She fell silent when approaching the table, clutching a rolled up bundle of fabric to her body and trying to hold her ragged cloak closed. Her eyes first found Tristan, then quickly diverted to the kitchen entrance.

"Ma! I brought Ivy over for a bowl of porridge!" the young red-head was announcing when she entered the kitchen.

"Did you?" came the curt reply.

"She was waiting at the smithy for Dag and had nothing to do and hadn't had proper breakfast and I thought ..." her voice was getting lower and lower, leaving her sounding unsure if her mother would approve.

Tristan rolled his eyes. So the direction they came from would tell him nothing. She had already been at the smithy this early and he still had no clue from where she had come.

Meanwhile Ivy waited timidly, trying to pretend she did not notice the silent knight's mustering stare. She had decided to wear the breeches and not the dress today. It would be far more comfy and practical for work, but it was bound to raise attention. And as her cloak only reached around her shanks, it was easy to notice.

After what felt like a small eternity, she heard Vanora mutter a not very enthusiastic "Fine. Get her a bowl." Soon after, Two emerged from the kitchen with a bowl and a spoon in hand and waved Ivy , making room between her siblings by slapping their shoulders. "Sit here. I need to stir the oats." And in a whirlwind she was gone back to the kitchen to do her duty.

Ivy sat down between a small girl, that flashed her a milk teeth grin with gaps, and an adolescent boy. Still feeling uneasy under Tristan's inquisitive stare, she turned to the girl, who was pulling at her hair. "Le me braid it? I 'ave learned that! See?" She pulled on the braid of her sister next to her, who was completely unaware and let out a squeal. "Eh! Let go!"

Ivy chuckled at that and dutifully untied the thin leather band. When the small girl, not older seven than or eight years, combed her fingers through her length she had to bite back a pained 'ouch' now and then. She could not keep her face from contorting though.

"So soft. Like rabbit fur." the small one admired and finally began to braid the dark mass.

Ivy faced the adolescent boy on her other side in the meantime and stroke up a conversation, where she learned that the children's names were not of hidden meaning but actually what they sounded like: numbers. When the mother of the crowd brought the steaming pot together with Two (obviously the second eldest child), all chatting on the table stopped and everyone relished in the breakfast. The children did not mind, but Ivy had the distinct feeling that something was off with Vanora.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Being back at the smithy after a fulfilling meal, it did not take long until Dagonet appeared. His look was a bit clouded and he was not as talkative as he had been yesterday.

"Good morning!" Ivy greeted him friendly, to which he merely replied with a grunted "G' morrow."

"Is something wrong?" she enquired carefully.

He looked her square into the eyes and she started to fear he would fire her any moment.

"Trouble at home."

'Oh' Ivy mouthed to herself.

"Lucan dislodged his shoulder in training." The tone was a mixture of concern and annoyance.

"He showed me were to get wood and coal and water. I can do his work." Ivy offered quickly.

She felt somehow that Lucan's injury was not the only problem that troubled the smith and also felt his reservation towards her. He too, now? Had she done anything wrong?

Fortunately, this dissipated during the morning. Dagonet showed her how to start the basic wood fire in the furnace, on which he would later build the coal fire. She went to fetch water and wood on her own and then made herself comfy in front of the big wet stone. Her cloak, bundled together with her dress, was stored away in a corner she constantly had in view. With her legs folded underneath her, the box with arrow heads to sharpen on one side and a mug of water on the other side she started her work. The monotonous strokes of metal against stone was relaxing her mind. The only thing that unsettled her was the presence of Tristan, who had come in around noon to discuss some business with Dagonet. They were looking at a lot of metal bars, weighing them in their hands, balancing them, clashing them and listening to the sound … it all looked like quality control. It seemed the silent knight had special wishes.

When Ivy looked up from the wet stone in the most unsuspecting fashion to watch them, she also caught two women standing across the street but clearly watching the smithy. But they were not watching the men. They were looking her way and whispering, shaking their heads when caught watching and then made their way down the street.

Was she the subject of gossip now? They had not even seen her wearing the breeches from this distance.

What drew her attention back to the inside of the work shop was when Dagonet grabbed one of the selected iron bars, which had heated up in the fire, and nodded to Tristan. "About right. Get the hammer." Tristan strode over to the tools, close by Ivy's working place, grabbed a huge sledge hammer and went back over to the anvil. Dagonet had clad himself in a leather apron, whereas Tristan made to remove his ragged tunic and then the worn undershirt, leaving him bare from the naval upwards.

Despite the fact that she had seen countless men in any state of undress (mostly in films, mind you) Ivy could do nothing but watch the play of muscle strings in the sinewy man's back when he got hold on the heavy sledge hammer. Every fibre of his body tensed when he lifted the hammer high and swung it down onto the red glowing iron rod. He hit it alternately with Dagonet, who handled a smaller hammer in his right hand and the pliers to hold the hot metal in the other. The rhythmic clash of metal on metal reverberated through the open work shop, while the scraping sounds of metal on stone under Ivy's hands had ceased completely. Her eyes where still glued to the moving of well-toned muscles in Tristan's shoulders, then travelled down over a back littered with numerous scars. It was a body of a warrior, no doubt. There was no muscle trained, that wouldn't be needed in battle and considering the many reminders that marred his skin, he had seen many battles. It disturbed Ivy greatly to be in the presence of men, who had killed other men. Watching in on TV was one thing, but imagining that men where able to do it by their own hands was beyond her. Never could another life be so worthless to just end it.

"Ivy?"

Her train of thoughts was abruptly ended by Dagonet's voice calling out her name. She focussed her eyes on him, hoping she had not been caught staring … which she hadn't … she had mused … thought about the value of life … never stared.

"We might need more water." He inclined his head to the steaming stone trough next to the anvil. "Tis too warm."

Ivy nodded dutifully, unfolded her legs from under her and stood up. Trying to ignore a sweating Tristan and his disturbing stare from under his shaggy mane, she gathered the two wooden buckets and left with swift long strides. Only halfway down the allay she noticed the passers-by stare at her lower half, her leather clad legs, and she realized she had forgotten her shielding cloak. At least the tunic reached past her hips, covering her rear completely. Going back for the cloak seemed foolish and it was too warm for it anyway. So she steeled herself and proceeded towards the river. The small gate was not guarded at day and she went unhindered. Only allowing herself a short indulgence in fresh water on her face and hands, she stumbled back to the smithy with two heavy buckets. After refilling the stone tray under the scrutiny of four eyes, she went back to her wet stone and took up work again, trying her hardest not to let her gaze stray again.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

This evening Arthur's call for a meeting foiled Tristan's plan for another observation attempt. Dagonet had already closed the smithy down for the night when he made it out of the table room and the woman was nowhere to be seen in the tavern. She had probably crawled into her hiding spot already, wherever it might be. It had to wait for another day then.

On the next morning Tristan even had to forgo his porridge in favour of some jerky and an apple from his saddle pack. Arthur had ordered him to scout the northern perimeter and the mining settlements to the east. Letting his dappled grey fall into a leisure walk after their fast pace on the last miles, Tristan pulled out another strip of dried meat and began to chew. His eyes watched the trail sides attentively. Even after Arthur's alliance with the picts Tristan had an uneasy feeling whenever riding north of the wall. Fifteen years of fighting and losing comrades to these people were hard to forget. He did not trust them and they did not trust him, but they were not the problem at hand. It were the slave hunters that plagued the northern territories. As soon as Rome had abandoned the island they had claimed it as their new hunting territory. Nothing to fear from the mighty empire, even welcome to trade their lively goods on its markets, turned many a man to this profession. At first they had kept close to the coast, raiding villages of their strong men and young women and quickly retreating to their ships. But as of late their trips had reached further and further into the heart of the country. The villagers were unable to fend for themselves, the picts army was dissolved or incorporated into Arthur's troops. It was upon Britannias new king to stop this evil. And Arthur being Arthur, fought for every citizen and their freedom with all his might.

For the time being, Tristan had come across no intruders but reports from the villagers on strangers roaming the country side were enough cause for concern. Arthur, upon hearing the news, ordered to reinforce the regular patrols and left it to Tristan to organise a schedule. Tristan's plan to work on his new sword in Dagonet's smithy had to be postponed. He told his old friend that much, when he passed by in his work shop.

Dag had been handling a chain mail and explaining things to his new employee, which dutifully stood next to him, a small hammer dangling from her bony hand. She stood by silently and inspected the rings of the battered chain mail while Tristan spoke briefly to Dag. Leaving the work shop Tristan shook his head at the thought of Dag's actions. Letting a stray scrape some arrow heads on a stone to let her earn something to eat was one thing but he could not be seriously considering her an apprentice. He will make himself the subject of town gossip, if he not already is and it would do his business no good. Tristan shall have a word with him.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

This evening, the streets barely lit with the last remnants of twilight, Tristan managed to see Ivy leave the tavern. She had sat on a rather shaky looking bench on the side, her stew long since gone, mumbling away on a slice of bread like a little rabbit in order to look inconspicuous while waiting for the night to come and for the darkness to cover her escape. When she finally saw her chance, she grabbed what Tristan assumed was her bundled up dress, and slipped out onto the allay, throwing glances over her shoulder if anyone noticed her. She however did not notice Tristan leaving the tavern right after her.

When he entered the street Ivy was already rounding the next corner and he had to pick up pace to not lose her.

_The little rabbit hurried to find shelter in its burrow._

Keeping himself away from the middle of the street, close to the walls at the side, he followed her turn after turn, small allay after small allay, not taking any short cuts afraid she might slip away through a crack in a wall or a loose plank of a hut. After rounding the fifth corner he decided that she was either not sure of her own destination or she was not directly going there. Not that they were walking in circles, it just seemed to be aimless. Two more turns and they would pass the royal stables again.

"Tristan!" a boisterous voice called out to him. "Sneakin' round in'e dark? Come, grab a beer!"

It was meant as teasing, but the moment Gawain had reached his side and slapped his back he could have strangled him. Did it not occur to him that he was 'sneakin round' for a reason?

Looking past Gawain he saw his prey pause at the far away corner and looking back at them with what Tristan imagined to be frightened rabbit eyes.

Gawain, oblivious of anything, turned around to face the same direction than his fellow knight did, but saw nothing. He remembered having passed by someone only a moment earlier, but being focussed on his well deserved evening ale, he had not really paid attention. When he turned his look back at Tristan, the knight in question scowled at him.

"You up to somethin'?" he inquired baffled.

"Not anymore." Tristan grumbled.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Breaking into a run and hoping to encounter no one else Ivy made for the stables. A last look over her shoulder before she entered the fenced-in area and she quickly crossed the yard. Throwing the watch dog a whispered "Come on boy! Inside!", she paused shortly on the stable doors and listened for any voices. Everything was silent. Thank god! Finally inside, she patted the dog, hastily provided him a slice bread and a disgustingly hard piece of gristle from her supper and climbed the hay loft. Only then a slight feeling of security came over her. Scooting back into the hindmost corner she piled hay to hide behind and rolled into a small ball, intently listening to any sound. But there were only horses and the rustling of hay.

_She had been followed, hadn't she? Was she imagining things?_

At first she hadn't been sure so she passed by the stable yard and took another round to make certain she was alone. She had looked back when rounding the corners but had seen nobody. And suddenly when she was about to turn towards the stable again there was someone spoken to not far off.

_Who had that been? Someone intent to hurt her?_

She had identified the tawny haired man who she had come across as one of the knights but to whom he called out she had not seen. It was too dark, too far off and she hadn't understood his callings, but it was clearly someone who had been following her, or taken at least the same route as her. It might have been coincidence but she hadn't seen anyone only moments before, when she last checked.

Keeping her breathing low she listened further for any sounds until finally succumbing to slumber.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The next breakfast at Vanora's table was less awkward then the last, mainly because the spooky knight was absent. She had also offered Vanora to pay for the meal with work but the red-head had dismissed this; saying one head more or less wouldn't make a difference and with a measuring look at Ivy added, she 'only ate like a little rabbit and it wouldn't matter'. The little girl, Seven, braided her hair again, picking out pieces of straw. Ivy made a mental note to more carefully check her hair the next time before leaving the stable. No need to raise suspicions.

When she finally made her way over to the smithy, she was surprised to find Dagonet already there with a saddled up horse.

"Ah, there you are." he greeted.

"Good morrow, Dagonet." she answered politely. "I will hurry with the fire. I did not realize I was late ..." she started to apologize but Dag cut her off.

"No. No fire today. I 'ave to pay visit to the char burner." he started to explain while leading his horse around to mount up. Then he eyed her critically. "I trust that I can leave you alone?"

"Yes. I will make the rings as you showed me yesterday. And there are enough arrowheads to process." She was not sure if Dag was convinced yet, she wouldn't do anything stupid.

"Good." He nodded hesitantly. "Tristan will show up after noon. I put the wet stones he will need in a bucket near the furnace. See to it that he gets them and no one else."

Ivy nodded dutifully. Apparently wet stones were quite valuable tools in a smithy. She would keep a sharp eye on them. As for the announced company, she was less than thrilled. Not that she disliked the man, it was just somehow creepy how he was around without speaking and instead bored his eyes into persons. Namely her.

"I will be back as soon as possible." With that, Dagonet turned the horse and rode off.

She was on her own. The work shop owner had trusted her with his whole business. Not that she would be able to run off and start to sell his hammers and pliers, but wow. That was a lot of trust. And she would honour it, that was for sure. She would prove herself worthy of his trust.

After unbarring the large windows in the wooden wall and letting light into the shop, she filled a clay mug with water of yesterdays trip to the river and collected the tools she would need to make rings. Dagonet had shown her how to cut and bow rings from the thick wire for the chain mail, that needed repairing, and she had turned out to be talented with producing equal sized and perfectly shaped parts. Only the actual repairing and welding would be Dagonet's task and she would see to it that he had enough rings on hand.

She hadn't noticed at first, when Tristan stepped into the smithy sooner than expected. Concentrating on hitting the wire at the exact place to severe another piece, she was a little shocked to find his looming shadow in the entrance of the work shop. Tristan stared at her and she stared right back and more whispered than spoke a "God day, Sir." He neither acknowledged her nor said anything, not even when she inclined her head.

_Are we not the epitome of politeness?_ Ivy thought wryly. Well, he wasn't saying anything, so she wouldn't either. Shifting her focus back to work, she readjusted the tools to cut another piece of wire off, all the while watching her supposed co-worker for the day out of her eye's corner. He took a step inside and looked around. Ivy knew exactly what he was looking for but deliberately ignored it. He had a mouth after all, he could ask and not treat her like air.

When he had finished his inspection of the smithy without finding what he was looking for he went back to the entrance and paused again.

Ivy was battling her consciousness. Dagonet had her instructed on giving the wet stones to this man and it would be not good to ignore his wishes just to teach a stranger the conventions of civility towards others. With a metallic cling she laid the hammer down on the anvil and sent one pointed look at Tristan that told him '_to speak up_'. It stayed silent. He did not move, not even blink. Nevertheless she went over to get the cloth covered bucket where the wet stones were soaking in and put it down in front of his feet. Straightened up to her full height, maybe even puffing up a bit, she was tall enough to look into his amber eyes. "He is at the char burner. Will be back this evening." she answered his unasked question before going back to pick up her work without so much as a glance at him. Unsurprisingly, no words of thanks were spoken.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Tristan's view (starting a bit earlier)_

A scowl sent the two gossiping women across Dag's smithy back on their way. It was about time he spoke to his friend about this. Finding the stray and not the smith himself standing at the anvil and swinging a little hammer, he was more than surprised. As if doing this daily, she accurately placed the wire and cut a piece off with hammer and chisel. Satisfied with the outcome, she placed the metal piece to the side and by doing so, jumped a bit when she caught him standing there. She spoke a word of greeting and nodded her head at him. And she kept looking at him. Directly. As if daring him to say something. Even her eyebrows rose and her brow furrowed a bit. Apparently bolder in day light than at night times, the rabbit was challenging him to speak up? When she dared to ignore him after a moment and carried on with her work, he took a step forward. Tristan's further inquisition of the smithy had not the desired result. Dag had not left the tools for him to sharpen his new sword. Good wet stones were hard to come by and he wouldn't leave them out in the open. Back at the smithy's entrance Tristan looked at the woman again, who had deliberately ignored his actions. Dag still hadn't shown. He was leaving her here alone to watch his work shop? Confident man. Stupidly overconfident.

Just as Tristan was about to turn and change his plans for the afternoon, the clang of a hammer let him raise his eyes again. The rabbit was turning to him and exhaled audibly, fixing him with another bold stare. Nothing rabbit-like at all.

Suddenly springing into action, she went around the anvil and grabbed a covered bucket from under a shelf. Coming over to him she placed it directly to his feet, the water inside splashing dangerously high to the rim and soaking the cloth. She straightened up higher than she really was. "He is at the char burner. Will be back this evening." She stated matter of factly and went right back to work.

Taking a quick look into the bucket, he found the wet stones. So Dag had even instructed her on this. She had known all along why he was here and kept silent. Not knowing what to make of this he took the bucket over to a bench in front of the smithy. With the stall for shoeing horses in his back, one side a good overlook over the allay and the other side good insight into the smithy it was the perfect place for Tristan. Unwrapping a sword shaped metal piece from an oiled cloth, he settled down and began to run the coarsest stone along the length, now and then taking a look to his left and to his right.

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, not much happening here in this chapter. Next one will be equally low profile. Actually I had to split the originally planned one into this and the next one to avoid a very long chapter (and an even longer waiting time for you). There are more tidbits of interaction than I had thought of writing at the beginning but this makes it only better, doesn't it? There will be more in this kind in the next chap to give you even better insight in Ivys character. As cliché as it sounds, in will involve apples. However, the chapter after the next will be a "Whoa, wait! WHAT?" chapter.

And thank you all for the nice reviews and for the traffic you give this story. I also appreciate you non-reviewing lurkers out there. Thank you!


	9. small interludes

The sun had almost made its full circle over the fort and was already tipping on the west tower. Tristan had come a long way with modelling the edge of his blade and Ivy had piled up quite a load of little metal rings, when one of Vanora's little girls came to the work shop, bottom lip stuck out and sulking. She peered at Tristan and then inside at Ivy. Ivy noticed Seven right away and smiled a warm smile at her. A smile that is only reserved for cute little children. Seven took it as invitation and sauntered over to sit on the rim of the cold furnace. Sulking away.

Ivy raised an eyebrow at the girl. "Why so moody? It is such a sunny day outside." she tried to lift her mood.

"Boys are stupid." she grumbled.

Ivy nodded in agreement and smirked, waiting for Seven to elaborate.

Said girl drew small patterns into the dust in front of the furnace with her tiny toes. "Gilly 's not share. An 'twas me who showed'im! I found'em! An Ma did nothing!" with outrage in her voice.

Ivy laid the pliers down and sat next to Seven. "What does he not share?"

"Apples. I found the tree first and 'twas me who showed him 'cause girls don't climb trees and then he picked them and didn't give any to me!"

The season was a bit early for apples but whatever.

"Maybe you can persuade him?" Ivy encouraged.

Seven shook her little head and let her braids swing around. "He's pidheaded an' mean." As if to emphasize she crossed her arms in front of her and huffed.

Ivy let her gaze wander around the smithy in thought, the soft scraping noise Tristan was producing with the wet-stone in the background. Then her eyes fell onto her recently discarded tools and an idea struck.

"Maybe you can trade something." she suggested.

Seven looked up at her cluelessly.

"Does your brother go fishing?"

The little head nodded mutely. Ivy smiled and got up and back to the anvil. She took up the chainmail Dagonet had set out to mend and carefully bent open one of the broken and deformed rings, which needed replacement anyway. She stole a glance at the knight sitting at the entrance but he seemed to be engrossed in the work on his blade. Seemed to be. Seven stood up and came over to the anvil, looking what this strange woman was doing. Once the little metal ring was pulled free, Ivy hammered it straight, took up the smallest pliers and started to bend it into a different form. It took quite some effort but in the end she had produced a little hook with an eyelet on the end. Not as round as she would have liked but good enough. After flattening the end of the hook with three powerful hammer strikes, that re-vibrated through her whole body, she sauntered over to the big wet-stone she usually occupied and started scraping the little hook over it.

""I will give you something to trade with." she declared towards the watching girl, internally hoping Dagonet wouldn't miss the little metal ring and that it wasn't too valuable. After some more strokes the edge of the flattened end was sharp enough for its purpose. We waved the little girl over.

"See, this is a hook for fishing." she presented her little wire creation.

Seven nodded and stared at it in awe. Tristan looked up as well, unseen from them both.

"You don't want just one apple for it, you want many apples." Seven's eyes were still glued to the hook.

Ivy proceeded. "This is not just any hook. It is made of a mighty warrior's armour. An armour that has protected its wearer in many battles and that was made from the strongest metal in the hottest forge on this island." God, Ivy should have gone into marketing. "And it was sharpened on the stone, that sharpens arrows for Arthur's mighty army. So special is this hook. You should claim at least four apples to trade this little treasure. You have to start high with your demand. Gilly will want to give you only two and then you say 'three' and still get more than he wanted to give." Ivy lectured the basics of haggling, while she placed the tiny metal hook into the girl's open palm. Her expression had changed from sulking to awestruck during Ivy's little speech. Then she looked up with a wide smile, closed her fist around the hook slightly and took off running.

Such a simple gesture to make someone happy. The sunlight was starting to turn red and she needed to bend the last wires before the day came to an end. Ivy smirked at the antics and went back to the anvil.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tristan's eyes followed Vanora's little girl down the street and then went back to Ivy. She had a talent for story telling. For making up things from thin air. For lying. He watched her briefly while she had her back to him and stretched her arms over her head. Then she took up the pliers again and went back to work. She was diligent too, he had to give her that. There had been barely any break since he sat here.

It wasn't long and Seven strode back towards the smithy with proud steps and her apron gathered up with both hands. Tristan could glimpse into it while she passed by him and saw round yellow shapes. Apples indeed. And this early in summer. _Why didn't he know of this tree?_

Ivy looked up from her work when she noticed Seven.

"How did it go?"

Seven presented the content of her apron wordlessly but with a proud smile. There were at least ten apples in there. Not the big, polished, deep red supermarket version but small crumpled greenish yellowy balls, that looked nevertheless quite appealing.

"How did you do that?" Ivy asked a little amazed.

Seven puffed up a bit. "I told him your story and then I said that a fisher caught the fairy of the forbidden island and she gave him wishes if he set her free and that I found the hook on the shore and now he is off to fish for the fairy."

Ivy had no idea where the little girl had taken these ideas from but it seemed successful. She handed Ivy some of the apples. "As thank you." she said. Ivy's heart melted a little as she took three of the small fruits and put the other two back into the apron.

"That is very nice of you to think of me. Maybe you want to share the others with your sisters." and a little more silently she added "It is always good to win over accomplices." Girls have to stuck together after all. So in one day she had taught Van's daughter to haggle, trick boys and bribe her sisters. She really hoped Vanora didn't mind.

When Seven left the smithy Ivy's eyes followed her and then fell back to the stoic man sitting at the entrance. His eyes looked out from under his dark braids in her direction but he didn't say anything. What a surprise.

Ivy stared at him a little longer and took a bite out of one of the small apples. They were still a bit sour but refreshingly juicy and aromatic. Maybe she should ...

Without thinking further, she took one of the remaining two apples in her hand, waited a moment for Tristan to notice and then tossed it at him. He caught it single-handedly.

Maybe he took it as peace offering for her antics this morning. Or maybe he thought she tried to hit him. She didn't know and she didn't wait for his reaction before turning back to her work.

Not long after, Dagonet returned from his trip. He was surprised to find Ivy still at work and was even more surprised at the pile of metal rings she had made. He had joked he could make a chainmail for his horse from them, so many where there. Tristan had left after a few words with Dagonet, as if he had only stayed to watch her the whole day. Now she felt a little babysat.

The smith closed his workshop and Ivy sauntered over to the tavern to catch dinner and to wait for the night to fall and cover her escape. It finally did and she made it back to the stable safely. This night she also took the time to give her ally on four paws a good belly rubbing.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The next day went by uneventful. Dagonet was back at the smithy and Ivy was busy to bring char coal, wood and water bucket after water bucket. She had taken a small break at the stream to wash herself with the icy cold water. It wasn't replacing a proper bath but it cleaned the dust from her legs, feet, arms and face. It was high time to wash her hair but first she had to come by some soap. The week was almost over and she was looking forward to pay day. There were so many things she needed to have: cloth for another undershirt, needle and tread to make it, soap, a comb, she needed to pay Vanora for the trousers and she needed a knife. Her shoes were fine for now as summer was coming, same goes for the cloak but a blanket would be nice. Unfortunately all these things were awfully expensive and she would need weeks if not month to get enough money for all. At least she hadn't have to pay for lodging and meals but this could end sooner than expected and she needed reserves. So it was back to sharpening arrows and hoping Dagonet never ran out of work for her.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A scent of rain was in the air when Ivy left the stables in the early morning on the day after that. A look to the sky confirmed her suspicions as big grey clouds rolled in from the west. She drew her flimsy cloak tighter around her shoulders and made her way over to Vanora's to catch a bowl of warm porridge. The kids were wrapped in woolen tunics and scarfs and huddled closer together than normal. The air was chilly despite it being high summer. Well, British summer. So rain was to be expected. After finishing her breakfast off in silence Ivy helped Two to clean the table, while the little ones dispersed in all directions.

Ivy made it to the smithy just as the first drops began to fall. She hurried to light the fire in the furnace and held out her cold fingers when the first flames appeared. The fire grew fast and after putting on two big logs she retreated to her place on the wet stone and picked up yet another arrow head from the seemingly endless supply. Dagonet was absent again for most of the day so the fire was not of any use other than warming the workshop. Not long after, Tristan showed up and settled on his own place to continue sharpening his new sword. He had dragged the bench slightly into the smithy to get out of the rain but still have a view to all sides. How many days was he going to spend on this? It seemed he was using up wet stones instead of sharpening the blade. He looked shortly at Ivy's huddled form when he picked up the wet-stones from their hiding spot but said no greeting word or even so much as inclined his head. Not that she had expected that.

The silence however didn't last long. The drizzle had turned into steady rain fall and from the looks of it, it would last most of the day, maybe even into the night. The noises on the street ceased to a minimum. Everyone, who could not avoid being outside, hurried to their destination to avoid getting soaked completely. The small alley turned into a muddy slide with each passerby. The women hitched up their skirts as high as modesty allowed and kept close to the buildings. Only the kids would not allow the rain to dampen their mood. Running through the streets as usual, sludge splashing everytime they stomped into mud puddles.

Around what had to be noon, there was no sun to gauge but the rumbling in her stomach growled for lunch, Ivy got up to stretch her limbs. She unwrapped the last of the bread she had purchased two days ago and the last wedge of stinky cheese and stepped up to the smithy's entrance to peer outside while munching away on her meager meal.

Across the street and a little way down there was a small girl, maybe five or six years old, standing in the downpour just two steps away from the small protruding roof of the potter's shop. Her ragged dress was already soaked through and her bare feet buried in mud to above the ankles. Across from her were standing two slightly older boys, shouting at her. "Tis our place! You no go here!" Ivy couldn't see them properly but they clearly claimed the dry spot as their own. The girl took a tentative step forward to get out of the rain but as one of the boys raised his hand she backed away. The situation escalated quickly when the other boy took up a handful of mud and flung it at her. And she was just standing there, sobbing and clutching at her mud stained dress. That was it!

"Hey!" Ivy shouted over to them, making her way over as fast as the slippery alley would allow. "Stop that!" The girl looked at her wide eyed and shrunk even smaller but Ivy's anger was directed at the boys. They were startled at first but then made to escape the clearly agited grown-up, that was nearing their position. As they broke into a run, Ivy managed to catch the one with the muddy hand on the back of his tunic. He yelled at her and flung his arms around to break free.

"What was that about?! You do not fling dirt at girls!"

"Lemme go!" he struggled further.

"I asked what that was about!"

"Lemme go, woman!"

Was there not any respect for her at all? Not even from a ten year old?

He did not listen and as he landed a hard kick at Ivy's shin, she swept his legs out from under him, which landed him on his backside in the middle of a mud puddle. Her grip shifted from his upper arm to his hand and a slight twist made sure to hold him in place. Taken by surprise by her physical intervention he finally looked up at her.

"Answer me!" she demanded again.

"What!?" he puffed indignantly. "T'was just her! She's nothing."

"Nothing? She is a human." Ivy stated in shock.

The boy didn't seem to catch on. "She's a bastard." His reasoning obviously clear to himself.

"Get up. You apologize!" Ivy loosened her grip but as soon as he got to his knees, he kicked again and in moments he was down the street. His companion had watched from the distance and Ivy thought she recognized one of Vanora's little rowdies. However, they were too far away to catch up and the rain was now soaking her clothes too.

When she turned back to the smithy, the girl stood under the little roof of the pottery and turned big watery eyes on her. Ivy crouched down in front of her shivering form. "You better go home now, little one. You will catch a cold." Her small shaking head sent little droplets of water flying. No home, then? Ah, what the hell … Ivy grabbed the little grubby hand and dragged her along "Come on. Let's get somewhere dry."

At home Ivy hadn't been a child person. She loved teaching but that was at college, to young adults. She wasn't good with comforting wailing little children. At least she thought so.

Back in the smithy the girl's eyes turned immediately to Tristan and widened even further, her little feet slowing down and her hand tugging on Ivy's, trying to hold her back from going further into the forbidden work shop. But Ivy was having none of this.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tristan watched with interest as Dag's new worker dragged a small soaked bundle in behind herself. He knew the little brat from the tavern. She was a strumpet's offspring. What he didn't know was why Ivy bothered. She had sent him a short look, daring him to say something when she dragged in the tattered child. Well, he hadn't said anything. This was Dagonet's shop and if Ivy started to make it a home for strumpet's bastards, that was his business to deal with.

The woman had sat the girl near the furnace and grabbed a cloth to rub dirt from her face and her hands. "What's you name?" she asked tentatively while tugging the soaked headscarf off. A tousled light blonde mane was revealed, a sight not often seen around here. No answer. "You have a name?" That got the girls attention. "Yes!" she protested. "I have a name!" Her courage dissipated as fast as it had appeared and a meek "Gwenolyn" followed.

"Well, Gwenolyn. You will sit here until you are dry again. We don't want you to catch death, do we?"

The little head shook.

"Good. Look at me."

Tristan saw Ivy's fingers move to feel up Gwenolyn's neck under her ears and chin.

"Open your mouth for me and stuck out your tongue." Ivy instructed. "Say: ahhhhh."

He didn't know she had any knowledge about healing but obviously she had. He had seen healers do these things. When Ivy was finished with her little examination she patted the girl on her small shoulder. "Don't take what the boy said to heart. There are so many mean people out there, mean and ignorant. I could tell you stories about so many of them and how they are always wrong."

The girl looked up with interest.

"Shall I tell you a story?"

An encouraging nod.

"Hmm, let's see." Ivy settled herself next to her, both their backs to the crackling fire, drying their clothes and their hair. The girls eyes were fixed to the woman and the woman's eyes stared into the distance. None of them caring that Tristan listened to each and every word and watched each gesture from under his braids.

"A long time ago but not far from here, it was deep in the woods on a small clearing, there was a little pond with the clearest water one can imagine. And around it grew the greenest grass with the softest blades. It was the home of a duck's family. The mother had brooded over eggs since weeks and when the little ducklings finally hatched she was so happy. And the father was walking around the little pond with his breast feathers puffed up, proud of his offspring. They were all healthy, with strong legs to paddle and their yellow and brown fluffy feathers had the most beautiful pattern ever seen on a duck. They were all perfect. All but one."

Ivy's voice dropped to a sad tone.

"Her neck was too lanky, her feet too big and her feathers were all a bleak grey. No lively yellow and warm brown but the cold color of mist and rain clouds. And her voice has a screeching croak that hurt every ear it reached."

The sad story about the ugly duckling went on and on and Ivy's story telling went more and more graphic. She barely remembered the story from her childhood but it wasn't all that hard to fill it with sad tidbits and by the time Gwenolyn sniffed and wiped absently at her eyes it was time for a turn to the happy ending.

Tristan had lightened the strokes of stone on metal to not miss a word. It might be a children's story but he hadn't heard it before and Ivy was good at story telling. He had to give her that. The ending surprised him as much as it did the intended listener and while the girl clapped her hands in delight, that the ugly duckling was in fact a beautiful white swan, Tristan read the underlying message. He shortly wondered if Ivy had directed it to both of them, the girl and him. Did she see herself as the ugly duckling? Underestimated and more to her than everyone saw?

Not long after, Gwenolyn's head turned towards the entrance when a woman's shouting could be heard on the alley. Ivy accompanied her over to the entrance, as she did not dare to go anywhere near the knight sitting there alone. "Ma!" Gwenolyn shouted back.

The woman turned and headed towards them once she spotted the little girl. Before she even arrived she started apologising for Gwenolyn causing any trouble without looking Ivy in the eye even once. Her gaze darted towards Tristan shortly and returned to a place somewhere at Ivy's shoulder, the stammer in her words taking on frightened undertone. Ivy assured her no harm was done and told her to keep Gwen warm or she would catch a cold. The woman hoisted her daughter up onto her hip to keep her little feet away from the mud on the streets, thanked Ivy again, apologized once more and left without even giving her name.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

This would be the evening. Clouds were still in the sky but the rain had stopped late afternoon and the fort was beginning to dry. Tristan had changed his approach on finding Ivy's lair. He waited outside the tavern atop the small shed of the pottery for Ivy to leave. He would be able to follow her on the roofs without being seen. It wasn't an advisable route at night but he had used it often enough to know where to step and which shaky constructions to avoid. And there she was. He saw her turning around a couple of times while slowly walking down the allay and as soon as she rounded the corner she picked up pace. Tristan shadowed her silently from above. When she took the turn to the stables he had to pause, there was no connecting building to step over to. He would have to keep to the ground from now on. As it turned out this was not necessary. The woman headed for the royal stables. She wedged herself through the metal gate and took fast steps towards the stable doors. It would only be a matter of moments now until the watch dog would be upon her. That nasty little creature made sure nobody entered the stables who wasn't allowed to. And sometimes it would question the authority of the knights themselves. Lancelot could confirm this with an angry fang mark on his backside. The knight hadn't been able to sit in a saddle for a full week but he claimed his company that night had been totally worth it.

Tristan looked on as Ivy disappeared into the darkness of the stable. And still no growling or barking could be heard. Seeing no need to hide any longer, Tristan made his way over to the big wooden double door. He didn't fit through the thin crack Ivy had used and so he pulled the door open with a creaking noise.

And there she was. Standing in the middle between the horse stalls, jumping up from a crouching position and whirling around to face him. Her eyes were wide with shock and darted to the door behind him immediately. He was blocking her exit, her only exit.

And then he heard a complaining grumbling. Behind Ivy's legs lay the watch dog. On its back, all paws in the air and tail wagging over the dusty floor. Tristan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that scene. However, he refocused fast on Ivy, whose hands clutched her cloth bundle tightly to her chest. He had caught her by doing something forbidden and she knew it. She took a step back to put more distance between them. Not that this would help her to escape. There was no other way then the main doors and the back door to the knights quarters.

The dog had noticed the tension and rolled back onto his paws to get up. He looked at Tristan from behind Ivy's legs, ears turned towards him, tail held still in anticipation. Enough with staring. Intending to grab Ivy for an interrogation Tristan took two steps towards the pair but halted immediately when a low growling emitted from the dog. Hackles risen on its neck and back, he had lowered his head and while Ivy had taken another step back he now stood in front of her.

That little beast wouldn't dare.

Tristan took another step forward, a little more hesitant. The dog however did not hesitate and bared its fangs, making its intention known should Tristan come any closer. _Well, that was unexpected._ He was a knight, the one who got along with their animal companions the best. And the dog knew him. Knew him since Jols had dragged that wild bundle in here last year.

Tristan looked up at Ivy, who seemed just as surprised as he was.

When she looked back at him it was a little less frightened but not yet smug. She had an ally and one with razor sharp teeth at that. Tristan's hand twitched to the dagger at his side. Ivy noticed. She looked down at the dog, who was now in full protection mode and finally she spoke up.

"Shh, its okay boy." She took a step towards him and when he interrupted the growling to look at her she dared to touch him. With a pat on the shoulder she told him "Braver Junge. Gut gemacht." in appraising words Tristan did not understand. The dog turned towards her and wagged its tail again, which earned him a scratching behind the ears.

_So, Ivy, what now? You just turned your only weapon and protection into a cuddly fur ball._ But she couldn't let the poor dog fight her fights.

When she turned back to Tristan he seemed to re-evaluate things. "What you doing here?" his coarse voice sounded.

"Sleep."

"Since when?"

"First night."

"Where?"

"Up there." Ivy indicated the hay loft above their heads.

Tristan tried to picture her way up there. There was no ladder and the beams where quite some space apart. He narrowed his eyes and turned back at her. Staring some more.

"Leave." he finally said.

"No." _Had she really just said that?_

_What? He went against his own nature and left her off the hook without any consequences and that is her response?_

Ivy shrugged her shoulders at Tristan's lack of response. "Nowhere to go."

_And that intitled her to set foot in here? Who does she think she is, that defiant little chit._

"Its not as if I am stealing hay or oats from the horses. I just need a place to rest. I leave at first light."

Tristan was at a loss of words. Where he normally knew full well what to answer but sparing himself the trouble to do so, he now really didn't know. _How dare she talking back like that?!_

"I could get you lashed for refusing a knight's order." he threatened.

Ivy cocked an eyebrow, growing bolder by the second. "You are using subjunctive."

"What?"

Yeah, Ivy. Tell a medieval knight about his use of grammar constructions.

"You said you could, not that you will." she clarified.

"Did I." _So now she was picking at his words? What the hell?_

"Yeah, you did."

There seemed to be a putt and Ivy was gaining ground and confidence.

They stared at each other some more and Tristan wondered when he last had a staring match taking this long.

"If someone else catches you, there will be hell to pay." With this he turned towards the back door to the knight's quarters.

_Wha, was he leaving her here like this? Unpunished?_ Ivy couldn't quite comprehend her luck but embraced it happily.

"They won't." she whispered confidently to herself.

Tristan had disappeared and after throwing her bundle up into the hay loft she climbed up as well. There was a soul under that scrubby exterior. Who would have thought? She wouldn't go so far as to call it compassion but yeah, a soul maybe.

* * *

**Author's note**

When Ivy speaks to the dog, it is German. Sorry to the German readers, it would be better if you could not understand what she is saying (like all the other characters in the story). I thought a lot where to place her origin and came up with the eastern part of former Germanic territory, which the Romans failed to conquer. It will play an important role later on in this story. What she says is:

"Braver Junge. Gut gemacht." which means "Good boy. Well done."

Yeah, I know. Long wait for this update but it really is a difficult time span within the story. This is also why the scenes seem a bit detached from each other. At least you got to see what many of you were waiting for: Tristan discovered Ivy lair. I hope it didn't disappoint completely. Ivy might come over as a bit bold but it only indicates she is finding her place in this society and drifts back into 20th century habits and behavior. That this can't go well for long will get clear in the next chapter, which might take a while to write.

A big Thank You to all my readers and Thank You again for those who took the time to review.


	10. new friends, new foes

Look, what is this!? Another chapter after only 9 days? Yeah, but don't get used to it!

* * *

The next morning was like all the others this week. Tristan didn't know what he expected when he trotted towards Vanora's breakfast table. Maybe that the woman had vanished in fear of repercussions for her trespassing in the royal stables. Well, she hadn't. When he approached his spot at the head of the table she emerged from the kitchen and passed by him, setting jars with honey and mashed fruits onto the table. She spared him only a short glance and a clearly audible 'Good morrow' but didn't even take the time to wait for a reply.

After some archery practice he sauntered over to the smithy. There was still the talk he had to give to Dagonet. The solitude at the archery range had helped a bit to order his thoughts and search for words. Hopefully his old friend would listen. He might not have noticed, goodhearted as he is, but the town gossip had reached a whole new level.

At the beginning it had been whispers about an affair. People had seen a foreign woman in the smithy and thought the knight sought comfort in other arms while his heavily pregnant wife sat at home alone. Some called her a hussy, musing that Dag, Galahad and he had brought her over for entertainment on their last trip and to freshen up the town's offering of wenches. The fact that Tristan himself had carried her into town on his horse against the resistance of the guards added to that. It also didn't help that she was dragging around other whores' children. It hadn't escaped him that even Vanora had looked at her suspiciously after Dag had covered for her meals. He was pretty sure she had told Lyria, Dagonet's wife and a good friend of hers, about it. He also didn't doubt that Dag himself had told his wife. What Lyria's stand of this was he wasn't sure. He hadn't visited their little home in quite some time.

Last night a new rumor had been added to the list of allegedly evidences for the foreigner's scandalous life. While lying on the roof across the tavern he had overheard the potter's wife, one of the court's seamstresses and the new kitchen maid. The latter had claimed to know Ivy since last winter, when she had shown up in her village out of nowhere and bewitched the widowed miller. She had not spoken one understandable word, had worn the strangest clothes and was behaving in the most peculiar way. The miller had taken her to his home were he had done who knows what with her. The outrage of the potter's wife almost had Tristan chuckling above them. _She was one to speak!_ The miller had kept the woman there during the winter and on the one or two occasions he brought her from the mill into the village she had spoken in broken Latin. However, the highlight of the kitchen maid's story was the Saxon party which had raided their village just last month and burned most of it to ashes. Obviously the witch had rested during the cold season, getting fed and warmed by the miller, only to betray them all to slave traders in spring. Arthur's men had shown up in the nick of time to prevent it but not all could be saved. The miller was no more to confirm the tale. She, the maid, had warned Arthur's soldiers of taking the foreign woman to the fort but they had laughed at her and called her silly. _Her_, who only wanted to help! No, they had taken the spy to Fort Badon and now she was weaving her web here, enchanting the former knight and now even drawing the dark scout in. Tristan's ears had perked up at that. Yeah, he had sat at the smithy for several days to watch her but it was out of precaution. _Silly women._ To his disbelief the gossiping women below decided 'to keep an eye on her' because the men were to ignorant. Tristan had to keep himself from dropping down next to them to scare them out of their wits and tell them 'the ignorant men' were keeping the fort safe just fine. He could refrain from doing so, because he had other plans for the night and as it turned out later, they were fruitful. He had discovered Ivy's lair and now that he thought back at it he had also heard her speak foreign words to the watch dog who had been unusually friendly to her and unusually aggressive towards him. Witch or not, he would keep an eye on her and this was much easier if he knew where to find her.

When he arrived at the smithy it was Dagonet who stood at the anvil. A quick look further into the workshop revealed Ivy, who knelt at the wetstone with an arrow head in her hand and Seven sitting beside her, sorting the finished arrow heads.

"So? How many?" Ivy inquired from her.

"Ten and ten and ten and ... I forgot." the girl mumbled.

"Then again. I count with you, yes?"

And then the combined voices started to count "One, two, three ..." Each number accompanied by the light clatter from the arrow heads being put on the pile by Seven's little hands.

Tristan noticed the smirk on Dag's face at the scene. When his old friend looked at him, Tristan signaled him to follow outside with a nod. They sauntered a little down the street. Ivy wouldn't need to hear what was spoken.

"She is teaching the little one how to count since the morrow. With all the siblings you would think she would know it from the cradle on." he smirked, thinking about the unusual naming scheme for Bors' children.

"Heard back from Gwellyn?" Tristan inquired after Dag's apprentice.

"Not yet. He should be back any time now." Dagonet answered. "Lord knows I need the help."

"An' Lucan?"

"His shoulder is improving, alas not fast enough for him. Stupid boy. It will heal in time but he keeps scuffling now that he is not allowed to train." Dagonet sent Tristan a sideways glance. "Why are you asking?"

"What about your new help?"

Dagonet nodded slightly, seeing where Tristan's inquiries were leading.

"She is diligent. More so than Gwellyn ever was. An she learns fast."

Tristan stopped his steps. "You are not thinking about keeping her."

Dagonet stopped a step later, facing away from Tristan. "A smithy is no place for a woman. I know that, old friend. But she has nowhere to go and its an honest way to earn a coin."

"You are not improving her situation, Dag. And your are certainly not improving yours."

At that Dagonet turned towards him, waiting for further elaboration.

"Loose mouths are talking, Dag."

"Since when do you listen to gossip?"

"I always listen."

"And what is gossip sayin'?" He braced himself for the allegations he knew would come.

"A young woman in a man's business she has no skills in day after day. What do you think?"

Dag nodded. "Listen. There is ..." he felt the need to defend himself but Tristan only raised his hand.

"I know, Dag. But _they_ don't an this is how gossip starts." and after a little pause "Does Lyria know?"

Dagonet nodded slowly. "I told her."

"And?"

Dagonet shrugged his shoulders. "She accepted my decision. Reminds her of herself I guess." It didn't sound very convincing. Tristan could not imagine Lyria to be happy about it. If not for the fact Ivy was working in the smithy then for sure about the gossip. She had had too much of this upon her own arrival at the fort and it had taken much time and the utter commitment of a knight to gain the acceptance of the town folks.

"What would you do?" Dag asked.

Tristan wouldn't have gotten himself in that situation to begin with. "A smithy is no place for a woman, as you said."

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When Dagonet returned to the smithy Seven was dancing around Ivy and the stoneblock, counting from 1 to 30 in a sing-song voice.

"Ivy?" he caught her attention.

"Yes?" She omitted the 'sir' but was also not calling him by his name. He noticed she was still not sure how to call out to him although he had told her several times by now that simply 'Dagonet' was fine.

"I need you to pick something up at the market. I need to pay a visit to the fletcher an can't do it myself."

Ivy stood and dusted herself off, walking over to him and awaiting further instructions. She was a little nervous about going to the market, her encounter with the fruit vendor that had landed her in the dungeon still fresh in her memory.

Meanwhile Dagonet had fished some coins from his pouch. "Allen the butcher will have everything packed. Tell him 'for Dagonet'."

Ivy nodded and held her hand open for the coins.

"Do you know where I live?"

She looked up into his face and nodded, more hesitant this time. Lucan had shown her from the distance when they had fetched wood on their first day.

"Good. Bring it to my home. Lyria is waiting for it and tell her I will be home for dinner."

Phew. All clear on this front. Lyria was his wife, Ivy knew. Two had mentioned her once. Apparently she was heavily pregnant with her and Dagonet's first child.

Ivy headed out towards the market, a suddenly aware Seven galloping along at her side and still counting from 1 to 30.

"Can you do that backwards?" Ivy challenged.

Seven looked up at her dumbstruck.

Ivy smiled down at her. "Together, yes? And thirty, twenty-nine, ..."

Dagonet congratulated himself on his plan to introduce Ivy to Lyria without being actually present. Hopefully it would give the women the opportunity to measure each other up and break some of the tension at home.

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At the market Ivy felt eyes following her from every corner, every stand and every workshop. She was glad Seven distracted her a bit. Allen the butcher was friendly albeit a little simple. He had packed a huge mutton haunch and some ribs into a bundle. Realising she had no basket to carry it he even volunteered one of his own, taking the oath from her that she would return it immediately. He was much more friendly than Ivy had expected from anyone on this market, considering the sharp eyes and whispering mouths everywhere. After handing him the coins she took off towards Dagonet's home, fleeing the exposure on the town square. Seven got lost on the way, claiming she had to tell her Ma she could count to such big numbers and probably annoying the hell out of her by proving it for the rest of the day.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxx

The hut looked well kept, the door and the window shutters new and a nice little garden at the side. Ivy took two steps up to the door and knocked. It took only a moment until it opened and revealed a woman, supposedly Dagonet's wife. She was smaller than Ivy had expected, mousy brown hair pulled back into a bun and sharp brown eyes. One of her hands bracing her back, the other held unconsciously against her round belly.

"Yes?"

"Ma'am, Sir Dagonet sent me to bring you this." Ivy addressed her in the most formal way she could. She hoisted the heavy basket onto the doorstep between them.

Lyria tried to bend down to have a look under the linen cover but had trouble doing so.

"It is meat. Shall I bring it in for you?" Ivy offered.

Lyria gave up the effort to bend down and fixed her stare back on Ivy, a stare that could easily compete with the scout's inquiring gaze.

"And you are?"

"Ivy, Ma'am."

"Ivy. Mhmm." That sounded not all too friendly.

"I work at the smithy." she tried to clarify.

"So I've heard." Lyria's sharp eyes were measuring her up again. "And where is my _husband_?" The last word stressed more than the others.

Ivy felt where this conversation was heading, not unwarranted given the social standards in this society. "He said he would meet the fletcher but I shall assure you he would be home for dinner."

Lyria's eyes swept over Ivy's shoulder to a woman passing by on the small path towards the town, who looked into their direction curiously. Then Lyria stepped aside. "Come in." It wasn't a friendly invitation but rather an order.

Ivy hoisted up the heavy basket and took the last step upwards, which made her easily one hand taller than Dagonet's wife. It was only physically though, not from the feeling of it. Once the basket was set down on the table Lyria motioned for a stool. "Sit."

Ivy did as she was told. She didn't feel well in her own skin but she owed it to Dagonet somehow to do what his wife told her and answer what she asked her.

"So you work in the smithy? Are you a smith?" It sounded mocking.

"No. But no one else would give me work. And I do my best to learn it." Ivy defended herself.

Lyria's tough facade crumbled a bit. She huffed and then leaned onto the table across from where Ivy sat. "Listen. I do not know you. All I know is my husband hired a woman to work in his smithy while I sit here at home waiting for this little one to be born. A woman he and his brothers brought to town from who knows where. What shall I think?!"

Ivy looked at her. She might be in exceptional emotional circumstances but this was unfair. "No, you don't know me." her voice more shaky than she had intended. "And you think what all of them think." She motioned towards the fort behind the walls, doing her best to suppress the watering of her eyes. They never called her anything to her face but Ivy knew very well what was spoken behind her back.

The reaction took Lyria by surprise. And it hurt her. How was it that she was now the one assuming things when it wasn't long ago that it had been her the town folk was gossiping about?

"I ... no. It is just ..." Lyria sat down, suddenly deprived of her strength.

"I don't blame you." Ivy added, afraid she had caused Dag's wife too much trouble to handle in her condition. "I get used to it."

"No." Lyria said decisive. "You shouldn't. 'twas not right of me to judge you."

Now it was Ivy who was taken aback.

Lyria continued. "You can not know but two years back 'twas me in your stead. 'twas me who Dagonet dragged in and me who was followed by nagging mouths everywhere. And then Dagonet started caring for me an I couldn't quite believe my luck when he asked for my hand in marriage and an' now it 's you." The sentence ended on an insecure and sad note.

"No! I mean, not like for you ..." Ivy tried to reassure Lyria. "I am grateful for his offer and I am happy for you but that's it." and to make it clear once and for all "The last thing on my mind are men."

Lyria smirked at that and nodded. "Sounds familiar. 'twas the same for me but sometimes it could not be helped. You'll see eventually."

"Oh no, for sure not. Not here." When had the conversation taken this awkward direction?

"Now tell me of you. How has fate brought you here?"

And with that Ivy started to tell her story, a slightly edited safe-for-medieval-people version of course. She told Lyria how she and her father had been in an accident and he had died. How her fiance had turned away from her when she was injured (omitting that she had been in coma for weeks and in rehab for months) and had instead taken an interest in her best friend. Thus losing the three most important people in her life in such a short time. How no family was left for her to turn to and how she had somehow ended up in Britain's forest (omitting the fact that she had fallen into deep depression and wandered the forest in a thunderstorm night to find the hut where xxx had made his proposal 2 years earlier). She told her how Sollin, the miller, had found her and taken her in. How he had provided food and clothing and taught her to speak Latin. She assured Lyria that there had never been a physical thing between them, when she had seen the smirk on the other woman's face. Sollin had been a sad man who had lost his wife some winter's earlier in child birth and who spoke highly and vividly of her as if she was just gone to the market and he couldn't wait for her to return to introduce her to Ivy. And Ivy had sensed how utterly devoted he still was to his deceased wife and how he lit up whenever she inquired about her. It brightened his days when he told her about the blue ribbons in his wife's braids on their wedding, about her fear of the smallest of mice, how she made the best pickles this side of the wall and how lovely her voice sounded when she sang to herself while sewing. He hadn't cared what the village people spoke of it but he was grateful for the company and the open ear Ivy provided. And then it had all ended so suddenly just as Ivy was beginning to accept being stranded in Britain (read 'being stranded in the 5th century AD'). One morning screams had roused them from their beds and before they knew it the scent of smoke filled the air. Sollin had grabbed his carpenter's axe and went down the small trail to the village and after that is was utter chaos. Being hunted through the maze of little huts by barbarians one moment and the next being almost trampled by huge horses which in turn now hunted down the barbarians. In the end Arthur's soldiers, Ivy couldn't tell if and which knights had been among them, had caught all enemies. Not all villager's had survived the attack though, Sollin being among the fallen. It was probably for the best, now he had no longer to suffer from loneliness. Many huts had been burned to ashes and when the soldiers returned to the fort, some of the villagers went with them. After loosing the only person she had known, Ivy had come to the fort as well. It only took her a few days to land in the dungeon and being thrown out to never set foot into the fort again. Lyria had of course heard from the incident at the river and had smirked when Ivy told her about the ride back into the fort on Tristan's horse. Ivy chose not to comment it.

"You've come a long way." Lyria concluded.

Ivy nodded mutely.

"Thank you for sharing your story. I see now my doubts are unfounded and I shall talk to my husband. I fear I have given him some unwarranted trouble over this."

Ivy smirked as well. "It seems his devious plan to send me here has worked out."

Lyria nodded knowingly. "And all without being on the front line himself."

The moment of unity ended when Ivy got up. "I shall return to the smithy or he might think the worst."

Lyria said her parting words and invited Ivy back whenever she felt the need for someone to speak to. It was as much help as she could offer, seeing she already had a family to care for and soon a new family member.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

After unloading the basket onto the kitchen table Ivy went back to the market to return it to the butcher. When she came to the smithy Dagonet was shoeing a horse. He looked at her apprehensively but had no time to interrupt his work. Ivy gave nothing away. Shall he wonder what the outcome of his plan was until he got home. Not much later he handed her the first week's pay and advised she shall enjoy the remainder of the sunny day before the weather turned British again.

With the coins tightly clutched in her hand Ivy sauntered back to the market. She had prioritized her list of purchases and soap was at the top. The weather was nice and the nightly curfew still hours away. Should she manage to buy soap she would definitely take a bath today and wash her hair.

The market itself wasn't big but bustling nonetheless. Most of the street merchants were farmers who sold their goods directly from a cart to the town folks. The higher standing traders, who sold cloth, pottery or shoes did that from their little workshops, that lined the market square and the near streets.

Soap. Where would one buy soap? There wasn't anything like a pharmacy or a beauty shop here. Most of the poorer people made their own soap at home. Sollin had told her that but he didn't know how to do it. Is had always been the task of his wife and lately he had bought his share from the wife of the sheep farmer. Ivy took her time with the first trip around all the stands, making sure to stay away enough to not cause any allegations of criminal intentions. She hadn't seen anything that resembled soap though. Walking a second round she stopped at a stooped woman and her two panniers full of herb bundles. And indeed the white haired woman dug a neatly in big leaves wrapped bar out of her panier. She was praising the quality of the waxy whitish block and how it would make Ivy's hair shiny and keep the lice away. Ivy wasn't very good at haggling. Yes, she had taught Seven the basics but to do it with a professional trader was something else entirely. She ended up spending one of her seven coins for a piece of soap that was slightly bigger than what the old woman wanted to cut for her at first. It was probably still overpriced but it was soap! Back in her time you would also pay a small fortune for handmade, fair-trade, organic, herb-scented soap. And after a week of hard work and continuously aching muscles Ivy indulged herself this luxury.

With her spirits lifted in view of the upcoming bath she decided to have a look at the local cloth store. She desperately needed a change set of underwear. Not that you think she hadn't washed her one set yet. She had rinsed it in the river properly one morning when Dagonet had sent her to fetch water. She had rolled it up into her cloth bundle to hang it for drying over night in the hayloft. But that had meant going commando in leather trousers for the rest of the day. Not a pleasant feeling when you did not know who else had worn these before. What had been even less pleasant was the afternoon in the smithy. Sitting on the wetstone she had glanced at the dark scout at the entrance suspiciously often to see if he noticed something. He might not have x-ray vision but he seemed to be awfully observant. It probably came with the job. She had also shifted a lot in her kneeling position, trying to detach her skin from the leather again and again. So, simple linen cloth. That would be nice. And a needle and tread. Ivy wasn't an experienced tailor but a few straight seams she would manage. She had, after all, mended a lot of Sollin's clothes over the last winter.

The shop of the cloth merchant was the most noble shop Ivy had seen since her arrival. It was tidy, flooded with light through several windows and the varieties of cloth very plenty. Far more than Ivy had expected. The merchant, a short chubby man in an expensive looking garb, was chatting with a woman Ivy had seen at the pottery every day. When she entered they measured her up with their eyes and took their chatter down a notch to whispering. In the middle of the room stood a huge table for cutting the cloth and underneath stood baskets with skeins of wool in all colours mother nature provides. The cloth bundles where neatly stacked on shelves. There was heavy woolen cloth for cloaks, light woolen cloth for tunics, bleached linen, colored linen, coarse linen, fine linen, linen with different-coloured stripes. Ivy looked at the plainest linen she could find more closely.

"Ah, ah, ah! No touching!" sounded a warning shout behind her. The merchant bore his eyes into her. Ivy retracted her hand and waited patiently for him to come over.

But he turned back to his other visitor first. "So, a pertica of this one. If I dare say so, Milady, it is far to plain for your beauty."

The woman in question giggled. "Lord, no. 't is not for my garb but for the maid. Again. She's a clumsy thing an' I cannot 'ave her walking 'bout in dirty rags in my shop."

"The pertica linen would be 10 Dinari."

The woman opened the pouch dangling on a string from her belt and fished out silver coins. Then she took the folded linen and left, but not before looking back at the chubby merchant with a not so subtle eye twinkle.

The man in question finally turned to Ivy and measured her up again, taking in the leather trousers and the baggy tunic. "And what would you want?" It didn't exactly sound friendly.

"A cut of this linen, Sir." she pointed to the plain off-white bale. It looked the same as the haughty woman from earlier had purchased.

"An how much would you need?" Being not familiar with the local length measures Ivy indicated with her hands what would be about half a meter. It would be enough to make a short chemise and a pair of shorts.

"A cubitus."

"How much is it?" Ivy inquired as the man hoisted the bale onto the table and took out a long and thin knife.

"4 Denari per cubitus." he said shortly.

Ivy swallowed. That would be more than half her pay and it didn't even include the needle and tread. "How many cubiti are one pertica?" she asked on a side note.

The merchant turned towards her, irritated by her lack of knowledge. "One pertica is two passi, one passus is two gradi, one gradus is two and a half pes. A cubitus is one and a half pes." Ivy did the math in her head and was just in time to stop the merchant's hand when he moved to cut the fabric.

"Wait. You charge me more than 26 Dinari per pertica?"

The merchant was taken aback by Ivy's unexpected skill in mental arithmetic.

"You charged her not half of this." Ivy indicated the door through which the other woman had left with the same cloth.

Having been caught in his trickery the merchant turned angry. "What are you talking, vagrant! Tellin' me how to do my business. Out with you!" He lifted the knife to indicate the door.

Well, no new linen cloth today. From this merchant probably never.

Ivy fled the shop and hurried over the market towards the tavern. What caught her eye on the way was a young man selling carved things. Spoons, bowls, rakes and combs among other things. Out of spite for not getting any cloth, Ivy spend money on a comb. It wasn't much but it hadn't ranked very high on her list. If she kept buying things, she would need a proper sachet soon. Or at least a pouch to keep the coins on her body and not in her bundle. She could make one by herself but she would need cloth for that. Cloth she would not get for a proper price.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x

The bath Ivy took at the river was not very pleasant. The flowing water was cold despite the season and she started shivering quite fast after immersing herself completely. She soaped her hair twice and when she rinsed it it gave this satisfying squeaking noise which indicated all the grease was gone. After toweling herself up with the cloak she redressed and bundled up her belongings together the washed underwear. Yes, it was back to going commando in leather trousers. Better than going commando in a dress with air around her southern parts and a higher risk of exposure. She toweled her hair again and made her way back into town before the gates were closed for the night.

At the tavern her usual spot was taken and the occupants did not look very inviting. After a look around she spotted the girl from the rainy day encounter sitting with her mother and shoveling food into her mouth. It would be worth a try so Ivy sauntered over, carefully keeping out of reach of all patrons she passed by.

"May I sit here?" Ivy inquired and indicated to a place on the bench next to them. Opposite to them would have been more polite but Ivy was reluctant to turn her back to the tavern. She would rather sit with her back to the wall. When the woman looked up to her she looked shocked and did not answer. Ivy felt insecurity growing and started to excuse herself "If not then ..."

"No! No, please sit. We are almost done." the woman offered hurriedly.

Somewhat relieved Ivy took a seat.

"I will be up shortly." the woman added submissively and hurried her daughter to eat faster.

"Oh, I did not mean to chase you away. If I cause any inconvenience ..."

"No! 't is rather me who causes inconvenience."

"How so?" Ivy was a bit lost.

"Sittin with me might shine a bad light on you, Miss."

"Ivy." she introduced herself. "And what do you mean with 'bad light'?"

" 't is the trade I do. Folks might think you are ..." he stumbled a bit over her words and then narrowed her eyes at Ivy, who had come to the tavern alone and clad in men's clothes. "You are not offering ya service 'round here, are ya?"

"My service?" it took a few more moments until it began to dawn on Ivy. "Oh. Oh, no. I, uhm, this is not my business."

The woman next to her went pale and stumbled apology after apology for assuming such improper things and started to drag her daughter up.

"No, sit. I don't mind, really." It's not as if her reputation in the keep could get any worse. Ivy turned to watch the girl. "I am glad she didn't catch a cold."

The woman sat back down and stared silently at Ivy. "'twas you in the smithy."

Ivy nodded. They started a little small talk during which Ivy had to assure Aisling she really did not mind her trade and that she was more comfortable in her presence than that of the impolite cloth merchant.

When suddenly Aisling's eyes shot up and towards the tavern entrance, she made to get up. She apologized again towards Ivy and said she had business to attend to. Ivy assured her she would spend her daughter company as she had planned on staying a little longer anyway. The summer nights were too well lit to go the the stable this early. Aisling sauntered over to the man who had recently entered the tavern, putting an exaggerated sway in her hips and ducking down a little to smile up to her would-be-patron. When she saw Aisling taking place in her customer's lap, Ivy stole glance at the girl next to her. She had finished her meal and was looking onwards to her mother. No doubt she knew where the money came from that paid for her food.

"Shall I tell you another story?"

Her shy eyes drifted towards Ivy and she nodded mutely. And so Ivy began to tell the story of Cinderella, soon to find herself surrounded by more children. And also one of the serving maids passed by the table suspiciously often and slowed down to hear more of the tale.

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When Tristan entered the tavern his first glance was towards the bench in the back. A group of woodworkers occupied it. A swift look around let him spot Ivy on another table to the right. She sat with one of the whores and her brood, chatting and eating soup. That woman didn't know what was good for her. She would find herself in the gutter rather sooner than later if she didn't care for her social intercourse. And sitting with who she was sitting with made her target not only for gossiping women. But that was not of his concern. He sauntered over to the knights' table and took his usual spot at the head. His attention was diverted by his brothers and only when his goblet stood empty on the table longer than usual and his brothers shouts for ale got louder he looked around the tavern to discern where their serving girl was held up. He spotted her at Ivy's table which was surprisingly crowded by children. The maid stood close by, pitcher in hand, and listened to what Ivy seemed to tell. The children's eyes were fixed on her and they all were unusually quiet.

"Vanora! What's goin' on over there?!" Galahad inquired when the red head neared their table. He had spotted the ale supply problem and the cause as well.

Vanora looked over to the table and smirked. "The girl 's tellin a tale and keepin the brood off my back for once." An accusing glare was sent in Bors direction. "I'll send Cida on her way." She turned back towards the bar and exchanged words with the held up bar maid underway. When said maid finally arrived at their table she hurried to refill all mugs. Lancelot grabbed onto her before she could turn away. "Let up!" she squealed. She wasn't frightened, just impatient with the dark knight's well known antics.

"No need to hurry, Cida." he charmed, but before he could say anything more she had wiggled out of his grasp.

"Let me on my way or I'll miss the end!" And with that she hurried back to Ivy's table, leaving behind a baffled Lancelot.

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When the night grew late and the rows of knights thinned out Tristan saw her get up. It was about time, he needed to get into his bed for he had the morning patrol. She glanced around carefully and slipped towards the entrance as inconspicuous as she could. On her last look around she caught his eye and held his stare for a few moments. She obviously didn't mind him knowing that she left. Both of them knew where she was headed anyway.

He entered the stable not long after that. There was a short urge to check if she was up in that hayloft or not but he ignored it and left through the back door into the knights barracks.

* * *

**Author's note**

Dear readers, thank you for the reviews, the favouriting, the alarm settings and the klicks in general. It is really motivating. I am currently on a writing spree. I have to drive 3 hours by car each day the same route and the ideas just keep coming during that time. However, I still have to write them down afterwards and that is where the time problem lies.

One of the guest reviewers (thank you for your elaborate review) pointed out that he/she stumbled upon some mistakes in the story. I do not know it it was grammar, spelling, improper wording, plot inconsistencies or historical incorrectness. I proofread my chapters after not looking at them for several days and catch some errors that way, but I have no beta reader yet. I also do not invest overly much time in researching historic facts. I looked up Roman money, living costs and length measurements for this chapter but this is as far as it goes. Everything else is from documentaries I saw somewhen in the past. The same goes for other facts (To Guest: No, I never did a course on metal work but I saw dozens of documentaries about how they make Japanese swords, ornate fences, super sharp kitchen knives, scythes, ...). Please, all of you, point me to errors if you see them. I can only improve if I know of my mistakes. You might not have noticed but I already changed minor things in the first chapters. It does not affect the content but it still improves the story for new readers and those of you who feel the need to read it from the beginning again.


	11. the course shifts again

"Who are you?"  
Ivy looked up from her place at the wet-stone towards the young man who had just entered the smithy. His clothes seemed well kept if a bit dusty. He just arrived at the fort if the satchel over his shoulder was any indication. The expression on his face was less than friendly.  
"Ivy." she answered a bit puzzled by his rough attitude.  
"And what do you do here, woman?" He had walked over and towered slightly over her from the other side of the stone block she was kneeling at.  
Hadn't she just given her name to him? And wasn't it polite to use it when addressing her? Who was he anyway?  
"Sharpening arrows." she answered coolly.  
"I can see that." he answered exasperated.  
"Then why do you ask?" There was just the slightest mocking undertone in her voice.  
The man stepped even closer and puffed up. It was time for Ivy to get onto her feet. Why did this need to happen the moment Dagonet was not here? The silent knight at the entrance surely would not step in. He was too engrossed with his beloved piece of metal. When Ivy straightened up to her full height she was eyelevel with the man in front of her. He wouldn't intimidate her as easily now.  
"This is my place." he made clear.  
His place? Since when? Ivy raised a provocative eyebrow. "Oh? And I thought it was Dagonet's place."  
The man shrunk a bit at the mention of Dag's name but caught himself fast.  
"I am Gwellyn, his apprentice, and this is my place." he pointed towards the stone block. "And you may leave for I am back. _Now_." with special emphasis on the last word.  
"I do not remember you employing me. The last time I checked it was Dagonet and it shall be him to tell me to leave. Until then I will do as he told me this morning." And with that she sat back down and swept a bit of water over the wet-stone to proceed with her work.  
Gwellyn was perplexed by her stubborn attitude towards him. He looked at the scout sitting at the entrance with his new sword. He couldn't show weakness, not in front of another man. Especially not him. So he stepped closer to that insolent woman and kicked at her leather clad thigh lightly with the tip of his foot. "Out with you, wench."  
Ivy looked up at him, eyes narrowing. It hadn't really hurt but how dare he?! Kicking her like a dog. Prick. "You shouldn't do that again if you value your toes." she warned in a dangerously calm tone. And to emphasise the threat she pointed at him with a freshly sharpened spearhead.  
Tristan had to smirk when Gwellyn took a fast step away back to the other side of the wet-stone. That lad didn't know how to handle things. Tristan knew him to be a bit of a show-off and that he revelled in the little power he had whenever he could exert it over others. And he certainly thought he could overpower that woman. Well, she was surprisingly resistant to his orders and her threat to cut off his toes had sounded quite serious. Could have been him to say this. The lad should have just grabbed the woman and drag her out. That would have been quite a show. Tristan wondered what the woman with the sharp tongue would have done then. What was it that got her so riled up? She was polite and obedient around Dag and friendly around Vanora and her brood. With himself, well, he didn't know. There seemed something on him that set her off as well, if that audacious talking back at the stable the night he caught her was any indication. Since then, however, it was more a friendly ignoring.  
"You better be gone when I return." Gwellyn directed at her with the most authoritative voice he could muster. Then he turned and left with big strides, shoulders squared and arms swinging with manly pride.  
Round one goes to her but in the end she will lose, Tristan mused. The apprentice was back. It was time for her to quit the field and end this silly play.

Dagonet returned soon after this encounter and ended the workday for Ivy. Not long after she had left Gwellyn returned. Dag was happy to see him back and to know his manpower would ease the latest stress at the smithy. The talk came fast onto the woman Gwellyn had found in the workshop upon his return. When Dagonet explained the situation with praising words about Ivy's skill and diligence Gwellyn chose his words carefully to not antagonize his master. But he made clear he would not be working in a smithy where a dubious woman milled about. He claimed his reputation would suffer now that he was on the lookout for a wife. Besides, it was bad luck. He didn't mention how he had tried to order her around and how he had failed in doing so. Gwellyn left and Dagonet turned to his old comrade, the inner conflict evident on his face.  
"What would you do?"  
Tristan looked up from his work. "Your apprentice is back. What is there to ponder?"  
Dagonet knew Tristan was right. He did need Gwellyn's help more than Ivy's. It was good to have her while Lucan was still recovering from his shoulder injury and she was quite good and fast with the simple tasks but she could never replace an apprentice. Further on, what Tristan had said to him had worked in the recesses of his mind. Deep down he knew her employment in his workshop set her in a bad light for other possible employers and other acquaintances. The relationship with Lyria had smoothed out once the two of them had spoken to each other. He was glad for that but his wife had also mentioned her concerns about the arrangement with hindsight to Ivy's reputation.  
That evening Dagonet went to the tavern. But not for ale. He had to tell Ivy she needed to look for another job. He would offer her the two days where Gwellyn was not at the smithy but it would not be enough to solely live on the pay. It would cover for regular meals and little things but hardly for lodging let alone proper clothes and the like. He would do his best to give out recommendations about her diligence and her aptness to learn a new craft.  
Tristan watched from afar as her shoulders fell and she nodded mutely with a disappointed look in her eyes. The mousy-haired wench with the daughter sat next to her again this evening. She seemed to console the foreign woman, maybe even suggest alternatives. Well, that was something Tristan could not see Ivy doing. Whoring around. Her sharp tongue wouldn't go well together with most men around the keep. At least not when she used it for speaking.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The next morning Ivy was absent from the smithy when Tristan arrived. He planned to finish the shaping of his new blade and start to sharpen it with finer stones. It was still a long way to the wood and leather work for the hilt. In Ivy's place Gwellyn was carrying in the water buckets, all the while complaining why that boy (meaning Lucan) would have to get himself injured and leave this lowly task to him. As soon as Dag and Gwellyn started working on metal bars to make more arrow heads Gwellyn started telling about his parents, his home, possible wife candidates, even about the neighbour's cranky plough-horse. And he did it loud enough for everyone to hear. Including Tristan. It seemed the days of companionable silence at the smithy were over. His patience was wearing thin and it didn't take long until he picked up his sword, the wet-stone and left to seek solitude.  
He found it on the northern pasture where the knights' horses grazed during the day. This is where Ivy saw him when she returned from her bath. Two had told her of a lake within the northern woods, half an hours march from the fort, which was far more accommodating for bathing than the icy river which was way too close to the fort to ensure privacy. Ivy had found the scenic lake with the detailed description Two had given and had taken her time to bath, even swim around, to wash her hair again and also to wash her clothes. She had sat on the soft sand at the shore afterwards and started sewing her new chemise. Aisling had kept her promise and bought linen cloth, thread and needle in her stead at a more acceptable price than the merchant had offered at first. She would finish the piece of undergarment within one more day. For now it was time to return to the fort before the evening guard changed at the gates. She would help in the tavern this evening. Two had pleaded Ivy's case to Vanora and she had offered a job on demand. One of her maids left last week to meet her future husband at her uncle's farm to the south. She would need to be replaced until further notice. Further on, the maids that had a second income from the patrons for their special service got busy with their own business in the late hours and no one wanted to do the dirty work. Serving yes, cleaning no. It was fine with Ivy as long as she earned enough coins to eat properly and to buy the most necessary things. She had paid back a part for the leather trousers to Vanora, then there was the soap, the comb, the linen and bread and fruit for her lunch. Not much was left from her first week's salary.  
When she passed on the path close to where the scout was lounging in the grass with his discarded tools and sword next to him, she was close to ask him if that insolent apprentice had him banned from the smithy as well. But she didn't. This knight was not exactly fond of conversation, less likely sarcastic remarks. The one word interrogation in the stable was proof of that. She was still surprised no consequences had come her way because of her trespassing. Had he given her away to anyone else? When he looked up at her from under his shaggy bangs she nodded in greeting while walking past. He might have answered, if only with the slightest incline of his head.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

In the evening Ivy noticed the boy hovering in the background immediately. He didn't dare to come closer and sit with the others to wait until she finished her dinner and started telling tonight's tale. He had run off when she looked directly at him the first time but was now lingering close to them again. It was one of Vanora's older boys. It was Five, who Ivy had dragged out of the river. At least she thought so. He had been absent from breakfast for days, stealing his share and eating elsewhere. He was also the one that together with another boy had taunted little Gwenolyn a few days back. It took Ivy a few encouraging smiles and a wave of her hand to beckon him over. Gwenolyn noticed him as well from her seat on the bench and shrunk smaller to hide behind Ivy. The other children started teasing him for being a coward but Ivy shut them up with the threat of not telling a story.  
At last, he squared his little shoulders and walked over to sit at the edge of a bench, just out of reach and with a free emergency exit at his back.  
"So?" Ivy inquired.  
His eyes flet to the girl behind her and then back to her. He looked questioning at her.  
"You want to say anything? Maybe apologize?"  
His eyes grew wide and his boyish pride flared up. But he also felt chastised by the only grown-up at the table without being shouted at. He contemplated shortly until uttering "Sorry." to Ivy.  
"Not to me." Ivy inclined her head towards little Gwenolyn.  
The boy gnawed at his lip, struggling with himself.  
"Sorry." he addressed the girl this time.  
"For what?" Ivy prompted him.  
He shuffled on his seat and looked at the cracks in the table before him. "For being mean?" it came out more as a question.  
"And now shake hands." Ivy prompted further.  
Both kids looked at her with shock on their faces.  
"Where I come from we do that to show apology and forgiveness." she explained although she doubted it would be any different around here.  
The boy reached his grubby hand across the table and after hesitating Gwenolyn shook it with her even smaller hand. Both retracted their limbs as fast as they could.  
"Very well. And as you have shown you are wise enough to see your mistakes and brave enough to overcome them, you, Sir, might choose the story for tonight."  
Five puffed up upon Ivy calling him brave and a 'Sir' and his eyes began to shine when she told him he should choose.  
"Something with horses." he said eagerly.  
"Horses. Hmmm." Ivy contemplated and came up with the most prominent horse tale in her mind. It would need minor adjustments to the time they lived in but she had no doubt the kids would love it. She herself had seen the movie a dozen times. "As you wish. Something with horses."  
"There once was a boy, no older then you now." she nodded at Five "Maybe even a bit younger. His father was a merchant and the boy, his name was Alec, accompanied him on a big journey to the south. They crossed the Mare Nostrum to Nubia, the kingdom on the Nile. In one stormy night on the ship back across the sea to the North, his father sat with travellers from Nubia and from the East and gambled. Alec explored the ship on his own, armed with the small dagger his father had gifted him. That was the first time he saw him. El Shaitan." Ivy's voice took on a mysterious tone. "The Devil. Of course Alec didn't know his name at that time. For him, he was The Black. He was the most beautiful and the most powerful stallion he had ever seen. And he was in quite a mood." Ivy's voice turned entertaining. "Horses don't like being on a ship in a stormy night very much. His keepers had tied him down with many ropes but he was trashing and screeching as if possessed. His stone-hard hooves kicked out in all directions and he threw his magnificent head around as far as the ropes would led him. He was used to roam the Arab desserts and not being held in captivity. Have you ever seen an Arab horse?" Ivy inquired into the round. The children shook their heads. "They are majestic. Their forehead is a little curved inwards, their tail is held high proudly, their mane is silky and their coat is sleek. They are not as big as the knight's horses but they can carry a grown man for days on end. They have the greatest endurance and although they can be quite testy, once you earn their trust they follow you around like a dog." Ivy had always admired these beautiful creatures. They would have been far too much for her to handle in her teenage-girl-horse-obsession-phase but one could dream. And so she continued to tell the medieval version of The Black Stallion. How Alec had stranded on the lonely island together with the stallion, how they became friends, how they were rescued and so on.

The ale was running low again. Galahad grumbled into his empty mug. Where was Cida? He looked around and spotted the maid on the children's table. She was neglecting her serving duties again. No one else seemed to notice but maybe he was just ahead of them all with his drinking. The festivities for midsummer were nearing and his courage to ask Aurelia's father for his daughter's hand was dwindling.  
The prospect of sitting at home with a wife after his court duties were done for the day, chopping wood, building furniture, digging up the garden, repairing the house instead of spending his time in the tavern with his brothers, the merry entertainment of dagger throwing, playing dice and drinking ale wasn't an inviting one. Lancelot had drawn him a dark picture of marriage._ Look at Dagonet_ he had said. _Whenever is he among us nowadays? Rarely. See?_ Galahad's look fell onto Gawain who was busy with whispering sweet nothings to the wench in his lap. Wasn't he the one always mooning over the perfect Sarmatian wife? And here he sat with yet another woman and not making any move to leave and get himself a wife. He needed ale. Now. Galahad needed to drown his doubts immediately before they began to fester in his consciousness. And as his brothers and the whelps (Oh how he revelled in the feeling of not being the youngest knight anymore) made no move to amend the situation he would have to do it himself.  
Reluctantly he got up and with empty mug in hand he trotted over to where Cida was hovering close to the children's table. He was just near enough and had drawn in air to start chiding her when Ivy's story teller voice reached his ears. "But they wouldn't let just any horse compete in that race. It was the match between the fastest horse in the east and the fastest horse of the west of the Roman empire after all. The Tribune would watch it and the Master of Games would not risk his neck by letting some stranger and his old nag in to race these two great stallions. But old Henry had a favour to call in and he did. At night they went through the silent streets of the town and sneaked into the Circus Maximus. The Master of Games arrived just when Alec warmed up The Black and then it started to rain. It was unusual for the season and it turned the dusty ground into mud immediately but it was the only chance they had. They would have to show their speed so the Master would let them compete. And boy did they show him."  
Galahad hadn't even noticed how he sat down on the bench and rested his empty pitcher on the table. The woman telling the tale, Dag's much talked of new helper, however had and smirked as he sat down without ever interrupting her compelling story. He had never heard anything like it. There were no great war heroes, no demons from the other-world, no long gone forefathers and their heroics. It was a tale of a horse and a boy, which could very likely have happened. It could have been him, once.  
"Pup, you feeling reminiscent of your younger days? Sitting with the whelps again?" Lancelot's teasing voice brought Galahad back to the present. The dark knight stood behind him, nipping at his goblet of wine. "Come over for a round of dice." Apparently Lancelot ran out of soldiers to mug.  
"Leave me alone." Galahad muttered and turned his head back towards Ivy to not miss any more of the story than Lancelot's interruption had already caused.  
And once again Lancelot was taken aback and robbed of his company by the compelling story telling of Ivy.

"And this is how Alec and The Black had proven they were the fastest pair this side of the Mare Nostrum." Ivy concluded some time later.  
The kids all had a wide smile on their face, pleased by the ending.  
"And how is it we have never heard of them?" Galahad inquired.  
Ivy smiled towards him. The grumpy man had been compelled by the story surprisingly fast and held onto his empty mug all the time without ever asking the serving maid for ale, although she sat just a few feet away from him. She knew him to be one of the knights. One of the three even, that had brought her back into the fortress at first.  
"This, Sir Galahad, is another adventure for another evening." she answered politely.  
Galahad measured the woman at the other side of the table up. He had heard a lot of talk of the going-ons in the smithy. He had seen her sneaking around in the tavern in men's clothing. He had heard the kitchen maid whisper to one of the laundry girls about her being a spy for the slave traders, that plagued the northern territories lately. He had heard herself speak about the Circus Maximus and the games Arthur's Romans so loved as if she had seen them with her own eyes. He didn't yet know what to make of it but it was all quite suspicious. Maybe he should speak to Tristan about it. The man was Arthur's head of intelligence and should have an eye on that.  
When he went back to the knight's table he told the scout of his observations. His brother in arms had only snorted at him, telling him that even the kitchen maids were one week ahead of him, not mentioning he already was keeping his eyes and ears open on that front. Galahad had sulked for the rest of the evening. Tristan in turn had glanced over to the kitchen once and again. The woman had gotten up not long after Galahad and was now working behind that curtain. She had grabbed the dirty tableware soaking in the buckets behind the bar and was now probably cleaning them. Vanora always ran low on staff late in the evening. Once the wenches among the serving girls found patrons for the night they would settle on their table to not let them out of their grasp again.

"Is there some of the broth left?" Ivy turned from her place in the tavern kitchen to see Aisling's head peek in between the folds of the curtain.  
"Yeah. I will get you some." she replied.  
"Do not worry. I can get it myself."  
This late in the evening no one really cared who got in and out of the kitchen. After filling herself a bowl of meagre soup and taking a thick slice of bread, Aisling fished out a copper coin from her purse and put it on the table for Vanora to collect later. She might be a woman with a dubious lifestyle but she was no thief. Then she settled herself next to Ivy, who was currently sharpening the kitchen knifes on the coarse back of an earthenware bowl. Her work in the smithy seemed to rub off on her other activities.  
"No business tonight?" she inquired.  
Aisling had been surprised at first when Ivy had spoken and asked so openly about her way of earning her money. She had explained to Aisling that she thought it was better to bring joy to others than to hunt them with a sword as soldiers did. Aisling had never seen it that way but it had loosened her up a bit. She talked quite often with her new found friend about her life yet she knew so little about Ivy. She had heard about the fiasco with her fiancé. Men were all pigs. She in turn had told Ivy about her trouble with a certain knight. She felt drawn to him so strong but he saw not past of what she was and what she did for money. He was kind and fair to her whenever they spend a night together but afterwards she always got trouble. Gwenolyn being one of them. She tried to prevent it but what seemed to work on others was a lost cause when it came to him. His seed just seemed so lodge itself deep within her. After Ivy's inquiry Aisling had explained the herbs to prevent conception many of the whores used. And then there was always the chance to undo the accident afterwards. Aisling herself hadn't brought herself to do it and so she had received a second one and a third from him. He, of course, couldn't know. It was not his problem to deal with. Nature had robbed her of both of them, leaving her with Gwenolyn alone. She would not survive going through this pain again. Ivy didn't need to ask for the knight's name for Gwenolyn looked exactly like her father if one took the time to look closely at her. It had explained the longing looks Ivy had seen Aisling throwing towards the knight when he was not paying attention and the wide berths she gave him nonetheless.  
"First one is already done. I just need a break. Tavern is still full though." Aisling answered Ivy's question between spoons of broth.  
"An Litha is upcoming."  
"Who is Litha?" Ivy asked puzzled.  
"Not who, what. Its the summer solstice. The fortress will be overflowing with merry people and from what I heard we expect travelling salesmen. Easy coin ahead and plenty of it." Aisling explained. She further described how the town folks would clean out the fortress to make room for the harvest and then celebrate. One of the acts of cleaning let Ivy swallow hard. They would smoke out all the stables and barns for two days to drive out the rats and mice with smouldering fires. That would rob Ivy of her sleeping place. It was barely a week ahead and she needed to look for alternatives. Her reliance on the royal stables as sleeping place was coming to bite her in the bottom. The encounter with the knight Tristan should have been warning enough and encouragement to look elsewhere. Now it was a pressing matter to find another place to stay. As the town would be full of travellers the lodging places would be horrendously expensive. But it was June. Maybe she could sleep outside?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Two days later Ivy was back in the smithy. It was Gwellyn's day off and she could resume her work at the wet-stone. Dagonet was hammering glowing pieces of metal into shape with Seven and Gwenolyn sitting on the bench the scout usually occupied and counted out loud in unison the beats Dagonet needed per piece. They seemed to be fascinated by numbers and of how far they could count them. Seven's father had been shocked but for a whole other reason as Dagonet had told Ivy with a smirk. When Seven was sitting at her father's lap last night and started to count Bors was the proud father. When she had counted past eleven to twelve and thirteen he had gone pale. Putting the perplexed girl out of his lap he had called for Vanora and asked her in a frightened voice if she needed to tell him something. Vanora had been clueless of what had gotten into him but the knights had sputtered their ale all over their table. The relief was evident on Bors face when she told him that Ivy had lectured Seven how to count and she was not preparing for another sibling. However, his face changed into mischief quickly, grabbing for the redhead and telling her now that Seven could count that far they could make use of it and work on Twelve and Thirteen. Dagonet had stopped his recounting of last evenings events suddenly, aware that he was telling lewd stories to a woman not his wife. Ivy had chuckled, at the story and at the big smith and his red ear tips.  
Today Ivy was showing the girls how to write Roman numerals. How these Romans could ever do Math without a zero was beyond her. Before her inner eye numbers where Arabic numbers. These Roman letter-like things she knew only from old buildings and their construction date. But seeing as no one around here knew of Arabic numbering, was it even invented yet?, she stuck to the Roman system. The girls drew the Roman numbers into the dusty floor of the smithy with blunt pieces of metal. It didn't take long until they had covered the entire smithy from one wall to the other in their scribbling. Thank god it had not been street crayons.  
Dagonet had praised her for teaching the girls but Ivy had thought it was nothing. That little bit of counting was surely no replacement for proper school education. But no such thing was around. Kids were taught by their parents except for the noble or at least rich families. Dagonet had told her there was a scholar around for the children of well paying merchants. It wouldn't make any sense to discuss the educational system of the fort in detail, Ivy mused. There was none and no one bothered. Well, she would help the kids out where she could whenever she had the time and opportunity.

In the evening Ivy asked Aisling if she could stay at her place for the night of Litha. Aisling had to decline seeing she would bring a patron to her bed and charge them for her service as well as the resting place. She couldn't let this opportunity pass and was lucky to place Gwenolyn at a friend's house. She confirmed Ivy's worry that the rented rooms were too expensive and at the same time warned her not to stay out in the open at night. There would be many strangers within the fort, many of the patrolling guards would be drunk due to the festivities. It was not a safe place.  
On the next day the much spoken about merchant caravan arrived. Foreign people, covered wagons pulled by horses and heavily loaded mules clogged the streets and the fort seemed suddenly small and its allays narrow. The aroma of oriental spices lay heavy in the air.  
In the evening the tavern was more crowded than ever. Every last chair, even the rickety stools were occupied. Ivy had eaten her supper while standing behind the counter. She was just chewing on the last piece of cold roast with horse radish dipping when an exhausted Vanora came up to her with a full pitcher of ale. "Eat up girl. I run short of hands. You go into serving tonight."  
Ivy choked on her piece of meat.  
"Don't make a fuss. It will get you extra coin. Now shoo!"  
Ivy had just enough time to wipe her greasy hands (next item on the to-buy list: a knife) hastily on her skirt before the clay pitcher was pressed into her hands.  
"Over there." Vanora waved her hand towards a fully occupied table before crouching down and filling another pitcher with ale from the barrel.  
Ivy staggered over to the indicated patrons, the pitcher savely clutched to her chest. She managed to serve all of the men who thankfully seemed to be in business conversation and not in the mood for female company. After collecting the coins from all of them she was on her way back to the bar. Two more mugs were filled with the remaining drink and then her pitcher ran dry. She hastily refilled it as Vanora had done earlier and set out again. A quick look showed her the table with the loudest roaring for drink and the most in the air lifted mugs. In no time she had handed out three pitchers worth of ale and four plates of mutton roast.  
"You are fast." Vanora praised during a short breath taking at the bar. Ivy handed over the coins she had collected and knelt down once more to refill the pitcher. When she came up again and let her gaze wander in search for the neediest table she spotted Tristan entering the tavern. He hesitated shortly, probably contemplating if he really wanted to sit in this noise while eating his supper. But he made his way over to the knights' usual table nonetheless. As fate would have it, it was also the table with the most insistent shouting of "Ale!" currently. Seeing that one of the other maids was trapped in one of the knights laps and another one prepared plates with food in the kitchen Ivy took it upon herself to quench their thirst. On her way along the counter she grabbed a clean mug while balancing the pitcher awkwardly on her hip with one hand on the handle.

Travelling salesmen. Tristan hated travelling salesmen. All they brought was uproar and more often than not beggars and pickpockets tagged along with them. To keep security and order in the fort was anything but easy and the arrival of the caravan so close to Litha was a nightmare. He had spent all day to instruct the guards to keep their eyes and ears open and to keep their distance from the wine when on duty. He had posted more men on lookout posts around the market and close to the tavern, the places where trouble was most likely. He was exhausted by sun set and all he wanted was to eat his supper in silence, make a last round on the battlements and then rest on his freshly stuffed mattress. The noise that met his ears upon taking the last turn towards the tavern was all but welcome. The thought of eating some of his dried venison rations at a place far away from that noise crossed his mind briefly. But the smell of roasted meat was too enticing to his senses so he took it upon himself to weave through the tavern patrons towards his usual spot. When he sat down he looked out for the next serving maid but it proved unnecessary. Before his eyes had found any a mug was placed in front of him and filled with ale immediately. He looked up to see Ivy turning to Gawain and filling his mug as well. The ale did well in soothing his parchment dry throat. While he drank it all at one draught his eyes followed Ivy around the knights' table. She filled all the empty mugs without spilling anything. When she had finished her round she stood next to him on the other side, waiting. He sat down his now empty mug and it was refilled immediately. When he opened his mouth to speak Ivy beat him to it.  
"Mutton roast with horse radish dipping or carrot soup with semolina dumplings."  
He closed his mouth again, unused. How did she know what he intended to say? Oh well, it was a tavern. Asking for food was a good guess.  
Her eyebrow rose to reinforce her question. "Mutton roast?" she guessed impatiently.  
Tristan nodded slightly and gone she was.  
His food arrived moments later and while he relished in the thick meat slices with the stinging spicy horse radish his eyes followed Ivy around the tavern. She didn't carry as many tankards or plates as others did but she made up for it with speed. Her keen eyes spotted thirsty patrons earlier than others and she avoided groping hands with agility. His own mug received its second refill the moment he set it down onto the table as if she had spotted its emptiness from across the tavern. She seemed just as efficient with serving food as with sharpening metal.

His walk on top of the battlements after supper calmed his noise-grated nerves. Light clouds were shading the half-moon and the air smelled of summer freshness and green grass. He longed to be on a mission again, alone or with only few of his brothers. They would sit around the camp fire, roast a hare or pheasant, listen to the night noises of nature and enjoy their freedom. All this planning and organizing and training of the young knights had him confined for too long in the dusty and smelly walls that were Fort Badon. What good was all the training anyway when he had to listen to the bickering of Arthur and his Second in Command in his sticky office from dusk till dawn? He needed a proper mission to stretch his limbs and sharpen his senses. Maybe he should go on a patrol that led further away from court and investigate the latest reports of strangers roaming the northern territories.  
His last look across the yard below fell onto a figure at the well. It was eerily still and empty except for a woman who was hauling up water to fill the buckets at her feet. The splashing sounded across the otherwise silent place. Setting down the bucket attached to the well she rested shortly on the brick-build rim, clearly exhausted from the exertion. After splashing some water into her face she dried it on her apron and stretched her arms above her head but then quickly covered a yawn escaping from her mouth. Tristan recognized Ivy when she half turned her head towards the enclosed allay to the south, intently listening. His keen ears picked up the talking of men nearing the yard. In a moment she was on her feet again, lifting the heavy buckets and hastily stumbled back towards the tavern at the north side of the yard. She shouldn't be out alone at night when so many strangers roamed the streets. Tristan's next thought fell onto the royal stables. At least no one would follow her in there.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Three days later was the day before Litha. Ivy had watched from afar as the stable boys haul out the remains of last year's hay that had been her bed and then carry dried leaves and pine branches into the stables. Not much later white clouds drifted down the allay and spread the smell of burning pine trees. Thick smoke emerged from under the roof of the big building. According to the heap of pine branches they would keep the fire going all day and the smoke would need until the next day to clear.  
Ivy hadn't been able to find accommodation yet. To be honest, there hadn't been much time to look. Although banned from the smithy for the last days she was on her feet from morning until late at night. Vanora's cook had welcomed her help and after sharpening the knifes properly all the vegetable cutting for supper wasn't that hard. In the evening her arms were jelly from all the dough kneading and soup stirring she had done that day. Lifting a pitcher was a real challenge. Her only idea for a place to sleep was the little hut where Dagonet stored wood and the char coal. But it was outside the confines of the wall and she wouldn't be able to leave the tavern before the gates were closed for the night. Besides it was pitch black in there and sleeping in char coal dust would turn her and her clothes just as black. She had thought of going to the stable despite the smoke but there was still a fire guard the last time she passed by the iron gate. Not an option then. Asking Aisling again for advice had brought no new ideas. So Ivy would stay at the tavern as long as possible and then wander the streets until morning. She had pulled over-nighters before, although sitting in front of a computer screen in her university office with a half litre cup of coffee was far more comfortable than this. And to her dismay a slight drizzle had set in. The air cooled significantly, which was fine as long as she was running to and fro to serve ale and wine. Wandering dark streets in the rain for hours was not so nice.

"You done staring? I think your man for the night is getting anxious." Ivy spoke to Aisling while passing by. The woman had stared at her half of the evening, clearly thinking about something. While Ivy carried a heavily loaded tray with fresh cottage cheese, fat with roasted onions, salt and sliced bread to another table, Aisling sent a glance to her patron and soothed him from the distance with a smile and a wave of her hand. She needed to get back to him before he looked at other bosoms.  
"Ivy?" Aisling stopped her friend on her way back to the kitchen.  
"A word. I might have a solution for your problem. Two of your problems actually."  
Ivy raised her eyebrow and waited for further explanation. Had she come up with a place to sleep? Aisling dragged her to a quiet corner and began to phrase her proposition carefully.  
"It will do you no good to wander the streets all night and in this rain you will catch death for sure. And with these many strangers in the fortress, many of them drunk ..."  
Ivy knew that was her problem. But what Aisling asked next took her by surprise.  
"Have you ever lain with a men?"  
Ivy's mind went into overdrive. _She wasn't going to suggest what Ivy thought she would, would she?_ Her physical reaction to the question was a mere nod.  
"See, there are many men here who seek company tonight. And they pay well these days. You can sleep in one of their beds and even get paid for it."  
_She did suggest it._  
"I am not sleeping with a stranger." Ivy stated outraged. She wasn't suicidal. God knew what kind of men these travelling salesmen were.  
Aisling hesitated before revealing "A man I know has asked for company tonight, but I am already busy. Not a stranger. He is a good man. Mostly."  
_Mostly?_  
"No, Aisling. _No!_" Ivy refused and made to return to the kitchen. There was no need to carry on this conversation.  
Aisling grabbed Ivy's arm to hold her back. "Look, girl. If done right it might give you enough money to get lodging for days like these. Winter is here faster than you think. You need to save some coin where you can." she tried to reason.  
"Aisling, I have never done this for money and I am not starting with it now."  
"But you have done it. It is not much different when you get coin. And the man is not a particularly cuddly type. He will let you alone once he is done but he has a proper room and we can bargain that you might sleep there till morning."  
_Once he is done? _Ivy shuddered.  
"Who is it?" _Was that question coming out of her mouth? It was curiosity. Just curiosity. Not interest._  
Aisling smirked and then sighed.  
"It is a knight."

* * *

**Author's note**

The longest chapter so far (I have heard some love long chapters) and I dare say I was quite fast with it. The spaces between the important scenes seem to fill out by themselves with details and in the end the chapter is longer than planned. I don't mind and I guess you neither.

Thanks for all the wonderful and elaborate (mysterious guest, I am looking at you) reviews and a warm welcome to the new readers. Some asked for more screen time of and interaction with the original cast. You got a bit in here and as the ending suggests, you will get a lot more in the next chapter. It will be up before Christmas.


	12. close, but not yet there

Although it is still some days away, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone out there! New chapter as a gift to you all!

* * *

_"Who is it?"_  
_"It is a knight."_

A knight? Which one? Ivy's eyes darted over to the knights' table. Most of the men had women at their sides. The knights never lacked company. The younger ones were not all occupied though. Oh no, don't let it be one of the teenagers. That would be awkward. Then her eyes fell onto the older knight with the brown curly hair. Sir Galahad was moping again and on the receiving end of the Sir Gawain's teasing. He had been eagerly listening to her story of the black stallion the other day. It had been the story that had compelled him. Not her. Hadn't it? He surely wouldn't go to _this_ length just to hear the sequel.  
"Sir Tristan." Ailsing whispered.  
_What? Him?_ Of all the people it had to be him?! That distant, cold man with the scruffy mane? The man who was never seen with a woman? She couldn't really understand why, for he was quite a sight when cleaned up, shirtless, swinging a sledge hammer. That image of him working in the smithy entered her head unbidden.  
Aisling tried to interpret the crease that had formed on Ivy's forehead. It didn't exactly look like shock or fright. Maybe not all was lost. The silent scout had a reputation in the fort and his behaviour towards others didn't win him over many friends or women, to put it mildly. But what Ivy had told Aisling from her days in the smithy, she didn't seem appaled by him.  
"What will he ask for?" Ivy couldn't believe she was inquiring this. What was wrong with her? She wasn't really considering. Just curious. Right?  
Aisling was surprised by the direct question and answered truthfully. "Nothing out of the ordinary."  
What was_ that_ supposed to mean?  
The professional saw the confused look on Ivy's face and elaborated further. "It's either up there or down there." she indicated Ivy's lips and her lap. Ivy pressed her thighs together involuntarily as if she could feel a touch already.  
"He is nothing if not efficient. Won't take him long when you do not interfere." Aisling carried on.  
"Not interfere?" How could one _not interfere_ when taking part in sexual intercourse?  
"As said, he's no man of touch. Keep yer hands to yerself and don't try to kiss him anywhere else than ... you know." Aisling indicated the lower half of her body. "Do as he ask and he won't give yer trouble." The prostitute hesitated before adding. "Sometimes he gets a bit energetic but it makes it all the faster."  
Uh, well, Ivy could imagine these loins to be quite powerful.  
"No. I can't do that." Finally! The voice of reason had found its way to the surface.  
"Think about it. He will be back for guard change. You two seemed to get along quite fine." With that Aisling went back to her patron.  
Get along fine? How exactly did they get along fine? He hadn't slapped her for her audicity to talk back as if she had any standing here and he hadn't kicked her out of the fort yet. Since when did that count as fine? There was no interaction whatsoever. Let alone conversation. One sided spoken greetings didn't count and that slight inclining of his head (yes, she had noticed) was hardly an appropriate answer. Well, she always served him first at the tavern when she brought something to the knights' table but just because the others didn't mind. He in turn would glower if he had to wait and be it only for a moment. Other than that, this man was the most indifferent person she had ever met. He had sat stoically on that bench at the smithy throughout her hypnotising arrow sharpening, the incidences with the girls, her story telling, even when that apprentice person had the audacity to order her around. He had sat there running the stone along the metal blade with an endurance Ivy could never fathom.  
Her thought kept spinning around the elusive scout while she continued serving ale and food in the once again overcrowded tavern. Sometimes a lewd comment was directed at her or a hand reached out for her skirts but she ignored and avoided them. But what she could not ignore was the offer from Aisling. It just wouldn't leave her alone. But she would not take it. Of course not. She had principles and to give herself to someone she rarely knew was not a thing she did. That body of his was sure nice to look at and she might be just the slightest bit tempted to touch it but that attitude. No thanks. Back in her time he might have walked into a bar and adventurous women might have flung themselves at him. But not her. These dark and mysterious natures were only interesting in movies and books but not in real life. For one night maybe but not for ... wait ... for one night? That was all it was about, right? One night.  
_Stop going there, Ivy. This is no place for you._  
Damn it! Men always complicated things. She had been content with the soft spoken and emphatic way of her back-then-fiancé and where had it led her? It was time to leave that part of her behind. To leave him behind. That cheating bastard. He had consoled her when she had flung the vase full of flowers at his head after his admission of being unfaithful to her. It was his fault and he was sorry and she shouldn't blame herself, it had just happened, he had said. How she had hated his honey dripping voice and the apologies it formed then. Couldn't he be direct for once? He wasn't sorry. Not at all. Bastard.  
The silent knight wouldn't do such a thing. He would ask or tell without false pretenses, she could imagine. Would it be the same during a night together? Ivy couldn't stop wondering and she had to admit, that deep down (very deep, burried under a thick layer of feminism and modern upbringing) she longed for a strong man. Someone capable of protecting her from the evil of this world. It might be just a flimsy fantasy but Aisling's offer had brought her nearer to it than any romance novel and shining-knight-rescues-the-girl story had ever done. Shining knight. Yeah, the irony was not lost to her. Not so much shine around here though.  
When she turned to take the empty plates from another table she spotted Tristan speaking to Aisling. There he was, clad in layers of worn leather armour, huge sword strapped to his back. Gods, he cut an impressive figure. His darkish hair fell into his face and Ivy could make out the characteristic braids in it. He was the incarnation of the lone wolf. And a badass warrior from what she had heard and from what she had seen on and under his skin. Scars and muscles. But not this kind of artificial 20th century bodybuilder muscle. Every fiber on his body served a purpose and was build in fighting or hard work, not on a weight lifting bench or a treadmill. He was no one you should anger. Ivy had felt that dangerous vibe when she had defied him, but she had faced no consequences. Yet.  
When he looked up at her from the distance she knew it was time. Time to make a decision. Aisling had without a doubt just suggested to him what she had suggested to Ivy earlier. She couldn't make out if it was a curious look or an disgusted one he directed at her. Did he think less of her now? Did he even care for her reasons of the deal?  
Before she knew it her feet had carried her over to the geared-up knight and Aisling.  
A curious one. His look was a curious one.

-x-x-x-x- a bit earlier - Tristan's/Aisling's point of view -x-x-x-x-x-

A man could only take so much. And as much as Tristan wanted to deny it, he was no different in this respect. When he checked upon the guards overseeing the market he had stumbled upon two pairs of patrones and wenches, going about their business behind the storehouse and the market stable. The upcoming festivities and the light summer breeze seemed to make people needy. He was currently rounding the bath house and could already hear the grunting of another man and sure enough he found a woman kneeling in front of a well-clad merchant, her face attached to the center front of his hips. The image of the man's hand on the back of the harlot's head, pressing himself into her, stirred something in Tristan. Something else than annoyance. It was time he made use of this kind of service again. The last time was almost a month ago and it hadn't been worth the coin he had spent. And knowing the shrewd wenches, they would charge him even more tonight with all the business the travellers brought.

"I am sorry, Sir Tristan, but I am already spoken for tis eve. As are most of the others. The travelers bring business."  
Tristan nodded grumpily at Aisling. He had noted that almost all of the wenches at the tavern where already attached to someone. He had grabbed the little mouse-haired one before she even entered and inquired about her service. Her answer was less than pleasing. She would have served him quickly now but he had no time. Arthur was requiring his presence. He had asked for later at night, after his guard shift, but she had rejected him.  
"Find someone." he instructed.  
Aisling bowed her head lightly. "I will do what I can, Sir." she said submissively.

Aisling had asked around but the other women were good in business this eve, as she had suspected. Muriel had not found a patron yet but as she put it, she would rather go dry than offer her service to that savage. She was a bit picky, silly thing. Aisling herself had taken the scout to bed before. Or rather he had taken her in an empty stall in the royal stables. He wasn't cruel or perverted as whispers among the whores who had not served him would suggest. He was just as distant in intimacy as he was any day. There were no words spoken, no touching, let alone kissing. Heaven forbid someone tried so much as give him physical comfort. It was fucking and when he was done he paid the propor price and left. Although some woman welcomed the fast money, this night no one would give up a full night's pay for a quick fuck and small coin.  
When Tristan stood at the entrance again some time later, he was decked out in armour and weapons, ready to take the first night shift at the western battlement. Aisling caught his unnerving stare and hurried over after besoothing her patron for the night that she would be back in a moment.  
"So?" he inquired from her in a rough voice.  
"As I said before, the travelers and the warm summer nights keep us busy."  
"Speak up woman." he urged. Change of guard was near and he had to leave.  
"There might be someone." Aisling admitted. She hoped Ivy had made up her mind. It was a chance she herself would not let go unused but it was not her in dire need of coin and a bed tonight. It was Ivy. They hadn't spoken again after her proposal and maybe she wouldn't agree, but now that the knight was here, it was worth a try. She could at least test the waters with him.  
"Who?" Tristan inquired.  
Aisling hesitated shortly and then said "Her." with a nod in the direction where Ivy served ale.  
Tristan's gaze followed the direction and first he didn't spot any candidate until it occured to him Aisling meant Ivy. His eyes fell back onto the wench before him and narrowed dangerously. "She's no whore." he bit out. Was that little hussy playing him for a fool?  
Aisling shrunk a little under his intimidating stare. "No. But she needs clothes on 'er skin and food in 'er belly as we all do."  
Tristan's look fell back onto Ivy who was oblivious of his eyes on her. In her dress one could notice the slight swell of a firm bust and the folds of her skirts made her hips wider than they looked when clad in leather. Her dark hair was braided as a crown on top of her head and revealed a dainty neck. From the distance she didn't look all that defiant and stubborn he knew she could be.  
"'t will cost you more than others." Aisling interrupted Tristan's musings with a cautious voice.  
"How much?" Was he really considering this? What he needed was something fast and simple, someone who knew what to do. He wouldn't tag Ivy as inexperienced but she was surely not the type with a professional attitude towards intimacy.  
Aisling hestitated, trying to gauge how much she could get out of the scout for Ivy. He wasn't known to be overly generous. "Two silver coins." It was twice the price of a wench this night, six times that of a usual night in this tavern and worth two day's wage of a craftsman.  
Tristan snorted and set his penetrating gaze back to Aisling. Two silver coins? That was extortionate even for a busy night like this.  
"An' there's another condition." she went on bravely.  
Tristan raised one eyebrow inquisitively. It kept getting better and better.  
"Ya take 'er to bed an she may find sleep there till morning."  
"No." He didn't even need to think about it. He never let women sleep in his bed, let alone whores. He rarely even took them to his bed to get the business done.  
"'It is this or naught." Aisling finished.  
Sublimal rage began to simmer under Tristan's surface. How dared this wench to set conditions like_ that_?!  
His eyes went back to Ivy who had finished with the table and caught his stare this time. After hesitating shortly she began to stride over to them with fast steps, her look changing between him and that insolent harlot before him.  
When she arrived her gaze was on him. In contrast to the little wench, who had stared to somewhere on his shoulder when speaking to him, Ivy looked straight into his eyes without hesitation. Something he rarely came across in this keep, let alone in women. She obviously hadn't heard a lot of the gossip about him that was coursing through the fort and his mere presence hadn't intimidated her as much as it did others. Maybe he would invest these silver coins just to find out how far her self-confidence reached. The explorer in him was curious.  
After staring down at Ivy some more he inquired "You agreed to this?".  
Her look was insecure, her hands fumbling with her apron, but her voice was firm when she replied "I did."  
Tristan ground his teeth together until finally coming to a decision. "Guard duty 's til midnight. Be ready then." he instructed her in a gruff voice and turned to go without waiting for the reply.  
"I will." he heard her say to his retreating back.  
Aisling was a little perplexed. That had been easier than expected. He hadn't even haggled although the price was horrendously high. Hopefully he would hold true to his word. She looked back at her friend, whose eyes had followed Sir Tristan until he was out of sight and she wondered if Ivy would have agreed if it had been anyone else than him.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_"You agreed to this?"_  
_"I did."_ Ivy had heard herself say. And before she knew it he was leaving, to return at midnight and take her with him. How did _that_ happen? And why was she not concerned for her life, her safety or at least her dignity?  
The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Serving ale. Serving food. Picking up empty plates. Serving more ale. Everytime someone stepped into the tavern her eyes darted to the entrance, expecting to see him but it never was. The night wore on and on and when the drizzle turned into rain the air cooled and the tavern emptied fast. Vanora had closed down the bar and had already disappeared into the kitchen and the house behind. Ivy's only companions was the drunkard asleep on a bench to the far left and the guard dog from the stables. He had been banished from his usual lair in the warm straw of the royal stables as well and had shown up during the evening, drawn in by the smell of food. His begging had earned him a few scraps from one table and kicks from occupants of another. The yelping had made Ivy aware of his presence and she lured him in to settle under the counter. Time and again she had dropped him some bones from the returning plates and he had the dinner of a lifetime. When the tavern had emptied and she had finished returning the dirty tableware and wiping the tables she had settled exhausted onto a bench in the corner. The dog joined her shortly, now looking for some caresses rather than food. Ivy didn't mind the slobber stains on her apron when he laid his head into her lap and began stroking behind his ear, all the while talking about her busy day in a low voice. Waiting.

The weather had soaked Tristan's cloak through and through and was already seeping through his outer tunic into his undershirt. His feet made squashing noises in his boots as he stepped down the stone steps from the wall and headed towards the tavern. During his last round on the western rampart he had interrupted two more couples despite the nasty weather. They thought they were hiding, away in dark allays or behind rickety sheds but he saw them all.  
The tables at the tavern were deserted except for the snoring Old Bevan and Ivy, who was the last bar maid left. She sat in the back under the last burning torch, huddled into her ragged cloak and talking to herself. Upon his first step towards her he heard a low growl and after rounding a table he saw the stable dog was sitting with her. She was talking to him, then. He was growling low and eyeing the approaching scout, while the woman still scratched behind his ear, obviously unconcerned for her hand.  
Ivy got up a bit stiffly when she noticed Tristan and slung the bundle with her possessions over her shoulder. The dog got onto its paws, prepared to go where she would. "No. You stay here, boy." she told him with a last pat to his shoulder. Then she turned towards the counter, grabbed another small bundle and walked over to the waiting knight, who still eyed the dog warily.  
"Your night meal." she indicated the smaller package she was carrying.  
Tristan nodded and started to head towards the baracks, Ivy seemingly comfortable with the long strides she had to take to keep up at his side. The need for company this night had somewhat deminished by the cooling rain but wasn't extinguished completely. When they reached the court yard towards the stables Ivy saw the small fires still smoldering and the fire guard watching them from afar. The stables would have been really no option tonight. Tristan turned left towards the enclosed knights' quarters but Ivy stopped at the water trough. She quickly fumbled for one of her most precious possessions, the soap, and washed her hands and face, careful not to get soap into the drinking water for the horses. Tristan had stopped under the protuding roof, waiting for her impatiently. His stare and the still ongoing rain let her hurry but she wouldn't go to bed without being cleaned up at least a bit. She had patted the dog and the last thing she needed was worms. _Yuk._ After rinsing her mouth superficially (horse trough water was not the most tasty thing) and brushing her teeth with her index finger, she shouldered her bundle once more and hurried towards the waiting knight.  
When they stepped into the narrow hallway towards the knights' quarters Ivy hung back but followed closely. She entered Tristan's room right after him but stopped dead. It was too dark to see anything. Only after the knight had lit a lamp on the torch in the hallway and set it on his table she could take a look around. It was a big room with more furniture than she had expected. There was the surprisingly huge table, a comfy looking chair, a smaller rickety stool, a large chest, a weapon stand with eastern looking armour, which would have kept her interest for longer had the next piece not been the bed. _His bed._  
The realization of why she was here dragged her mind back to the present. She turned and saw the knight struggling with his cloak. The curved sword lay already on the table, along with two daggers, and now he was trying to untie the strings of his cloak. His fingers seemed stiff. Aisling's warning came to her mind and let her hold back from helping him with the garment. "He is no man of touches." she had said. When the laces were undone he discarded the cloak into a heap at the cold fireplace. The light leather armour came undone easier and when he struggled again with the laces of his tunic Ivy stepped in. "Let me." She made quick work of the ties with deft fingers. He then swiftly pulled the damp green article of clothing over his head and discarded it as well. His off-white undershirt was rumpled and together with the soggy hair that dripped onto his shoulders and the ragged beard he looked like straight from a romance novel. He was that Aragorn-type of enigmatic man. He was taller than her by two hands. Ivy looked up from his collar bone and shoulder on her eye level over his thin lips to the tattoos on his high cheek bones and finally met two golden orbs. Her own eyes might have taken on a bit of a doe-eyed stare. And the moment dragged on and on. Was he expecting her to do something?  
Tristan looked down onto the woman before him. Her hazel eyes were glued to his own, pupils wide due to the dimmness of his room. Around her eyes he notices the smallest of wrinkles in the flickering light of the oil lamp. She might be older than he had thought initially. Her frame was slender from what the tunic and leather breeches and the occasional ill-fitting dress had shown. He hadn't had a good look at her the day Dag had pulled her from the river. A clinging wet underdress must have revealed more than he had seen in the last weeks. And he had looked carefully. She wasn't as gifted with a bust as Moira and her hips had a rather boyish cut. There was not much substance to grab neither on arms nor on legs and her face was not round and pleasing but more chiseled and sharp. Small strands of hair were escaping her current crownbraid and plastered to the side of her face by the rain. Curiousity welled up inside him, the want to know if her skin was as smooth as it looked. She dropped her eyes, her hands reached up to her own collar and undid the ties of her cloak. She disposed it next to her cloth bundle and turned to him again, standing close enough for him to reach. And he did reach out. He pulled the worn shawl from around her neck and out of the dresses neckline. Her breasts were heaving visibly in their confines from the deep breaths she drew in.  
Ivy shivered when the shawl slid from her shoulders and bared her cleavage. Rough fingers seem to accidentally graze her skin while pulling the cloth away. Goosebumps rose all over her chest and the hair on her neck stood up. Everything seemed to be slowed down. Not energetic and needy as she had expected but almost reverent. She looked up into his eyes again and bit her lip unconciously.  
Tristan's gaze was distracted by her teeth worrying her lip. She was looking at him again with these open eyes. He could see insecurity but not the fright that many eyes held that were directed at him. Then his look fell back to her cleavage. He wasn't the touchy-feely type but since he was lumbered with her the whole night anyway, he could very well take his time to explore. Just when he reached out his hand again to touch what was his for the night a loud banging on the door interupted them. The woman in front of him jumped in shock, breath caught in her lung. Tristan did not react. He kept looking at her and noticed how her cheeks now had a rosy tinge and her lips a darker hue than before. The pounding on his door sounded again.  
"_What?!_" he snapped.  
"Tristan. Arthur wants you in his office. Now." Lancelot's voice informed him without opening the door. His steps could be heard leaving down the hallway without waiting for a reply.  
Tristan's curious gaze changed into a stony mask. Grabbing a dry tunic from his chest he left Ivy standing in the middle of his room without another word.

Tristan shifted closer to the fire place in Arthurs office, trying to gain the last waves of heat from the glowing embers. His damp clothes had cooled him down enough to give him goosebumps and his toes began to get numb in his soaked through socks and boots. He hadn't been able to change them when Lancelot had summoned him.  
The main discussion was over, in his opinion since long, but Arthur and his Second in Command kept bickering like two old hags that agued over the right way to plant turnips. The matter at hand was a serious one, though. Intruders, presumably Saxon and Angles, had conducted another raid along the south western shores and robbed the villages of young men and women for the slave markets of the Roman empire and of all valuable things they could get a hold on. What was even more concerning were reports of sightings of unknown travelers. Three remote farms had been attacked, all inhabitants killed. The farms had been two days apart each, arranged along a trail into the inner lands of Britain. Had these been resting points for another raiding party? They would not know if they did not send out men to investigate. And Lancelot and Arthur just couldn't agree on the best way to proceed.  
Tristan's mind drifted back to his room and his nightly visitor. God help her if she touched anything. She better stood right where he had left her when he returned. What had he been thinking when he left her in his room, alone, all by herself? He wasn't panicking that she might steal and flee into the night, although the thought had crossed his mind briefly. If not enough for her honest character towards Dag, her sharp mind would tell her to know better than to steal from him of all people. He would find her, no matter where she hid, and he would break every single of her slender fingers. She better stayed away from his stuff.  
His feet had gone numb completely and the cold was creeping up his legs. He was close to taking off his boots and lounge into Arthurs chair by the fire to dry and warm his aching feet, when Arthur spoke up. "Tristan, you look tired. Rest, my friend. We will decide tomorrow how to tackle this problem."  
Was he for real? He had kept him here, away from his supper and bed, long enough for the moon to travel from one window to the next and they did not decide on their actions?  
"Hmm." he grunted in response and turned towards the door.  
The way through the long hallways back to his quarters didn't improve his mood at all. He was hungry, he was cold, he was tired and he had no, absolutely no desire for company for what was left of the night. He needed to get rid of the woman. Throw her out, maybe give her a copper coin or two for the cancelled business. When did he become so generouos? It was probably helping that she was not one of the regular wenches. She didn't seem too thrilled by the deal they had made, didn't seem to know what to expect. Probably had never done anything like this for money. Should be glad to get out of the deal. With that thought he arrived at his door and opened it slowly.  
He was greeted by a soft glow from the fireplace that came with waves of warmth. She had lit a fire. In his fireplace. _She had touched his stuff._  
The hairs on his neck rose and his teeth ground together. His only chair stood next to the fireplace, backrest towards the fire and his cloak was draped over it to dry. His outer tunic was draped over the seat to dry as well. On the rim of the fireplace stood a clay goblet filled with wine to warm. The supper Vanora had packed for him was unpacked and neatly arranged on a plate on his roughly hewn table. Two thick slices of bread along with fresh cheese, some radish and an apple. It didn't look as if she had eaten from it. Next to it were his weapons as he had discarded them. At least she hadn't touched them. A sense of selfpreservation was present. But where was the culprit? A swift gaze around the room let his eyes drop to a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed and then the heavy blanket moved. He stepped closer to see in the dim light. A head was resting on his pillow, surrounded by a dark halo of long strands of hair. She had opened her braids and let her hair fall loose. Her eyes were tightly shut, lips slightly apart and the blanket drawn up to the chin, one hand fisted into it. She ... she was in his bed ... _sleeping_.  
Tristan was taken aback. He was torn between anger and the urge to grab her to throw her out and the surprise that she was comfortable and trusty enough to step into his bed and fall asleep, while he was not there. She had probably thought she would end up in there anyway, not knowing he had no intention to follow through with his original plan now.  
With a huff he sat down on a stool and began peeling off his damp boots and soaked socks. He unlaced his leather trouthers and remained in thin linen underwear and a grubby shirt. Stretching himself out, he rested his feet close to the fire and devoured his supper. The wine was pleasantly warmed up. Now and again he glanced over to the bed but the woman gave no sign of waking. Instead she sighed now and then in her sleep, hands twitching.  
After finishing his nightly meal, he wiped down his weapons with an oily cloth and laid them out to dry on the table, then he stepped to the bed.  
What now? Throw her out? He knew she had nowhere to go, the streets where full of wandering men this night and he had kind of promised to that little mousy wench at the tavern to let her stay the night as part of the deal.  
As if sensing his hesitation in her sleep, Ivy scooted over to the wall and made enough room for him to lay down. Reluctantly he pulled his shirt over his head to discard it and climbed into his bed in just thin linen breeches. When he lifted the blanket he was a little disappointed to find Ivy still clothed. Although what had remained was flimsy and barely covering anything. A thin linen shift without sleeves left most of her shoulders, neck and cleavage bare and after stretching his legs under the blanket he found out it barely reached past her bottom. He reached down and traced the outline of her upper thigh and hip with his fingers, finding another garment which felt like ... short breeches?_ What was that?_  
His touch elicited a soft huff from the woman next to him and prompted her to roll over, turning her back towards him without ever waking up. She mumbled something, he wasn't sure if just inaudible or another language. And then she shifted closer, pressing herself back into him. _Gods, she was warm._ Almost fevery. Where her bare shoulders touched his cold skin he could immediately feel the warmth seep into him. It was practically radiating off of her, more than off the glowing embers in the fireplace. He curled himself around her instinctively, revelling in the cozyness she had created under his scratchy blanket. When he reached an arm around her, she grabbed it absentmindendly and pulled it to her chest, mumbling something again in a tongue, Tristan did not understand.  
He was beginning to think she was taking him for someone else.  
But he didn't really mind. She was silent, spent warmth and didn't take up much space, thin as she was. And she didn't smell. In fact she didn't smell at all. Not after wine, not after Vanora's greasy stew, not after horse stable, not after sweat and not after these obstrusive oils many of the tavern wenches used. He nuzzled his nose into her neck, beard scratching lightly on her shoulder. Ivy craned her neck slightly in response, mumbling again in that toneless voice. For the blink of an eye he reevaluated his decision to not follow the original plan for the night but then decided he was too exhausted. Instead he breathed in her soft scent of fresh water and crisp night air and drifted slowly off to sleep.

Tristan woke up immediately when Ivy stirred next to him. Not being used to company while sleeping he was a little disoriented at first but regained his senses fast. Suddenly, Ivy bolted upright, panting heavily, head turning panicking into every direction. Tristan remained still and kept his eyes almost closed, while his left hand reached unseen under his bed to grab a small dagger. She turned to him, he could feel her stare. And then she shuffeled out from under the blanket and got out of bed. Still a little disturbed by what seemed to have been a nightmare, she paced the room on bare feet, stepping close to the window and taking a few deep breathes, then stepping back to the bed again and staring down at him. He could hear her whispering to herself in that foreign tongue of hers, stepping away from the bed to the fireplace but still staring back at him. She seemed undecided what to do, and Tristan was close to giving up his feigned sleep and pull her back to bed. He needed his sleep and from what she had looked like in the last days she needed her's too. Besides that, he missed the warmth already. She reached down to his goblet and took the last sip of wine to wet her throat and then stepped back to the bed. She crawled in at the foot and scooted as close to the wall as she could, avoiding to touch him. But Tristan was having none of that. He rolled over without opening his eyes and grabbed her, pulling her back close to his naked chest. Ivy gasped and stiffened immediately but did not try to escape. When he didn't make any further moves she began to relax again, submitting to her fate. She drifted back to sleep before he did.

The next time Tristan woke up he lay on his back and the first hints of morning light filtered in through his small east window. Ivy's head rested on his shoulder, her skinny right arm casually draped over his chest and one bare leg slung around his own. She was pressed into his side, still fast asleep. He raised his arm she rested on lightly to make the blood flow back into it and in response she drew even nearer, almost rubbing herself on him. Tristan groaned. He might not have thought about taking her last night but he did _now_. She was more naked than clothed, she was warm, her skin and hair was soft as rabbit fur and most importantly, she had agreed to let him. Ivy stirred again and bend her leg slightly, rubbing her knee dangerously near to his crotch, which was clearly showing indication of his mood. She mumbled again, rubbing her nose to his neck.  
She was definitely taking him for someone else.  
When he moved to shift onto his side to face her he felt the reminder of the wine and ale he had consumed yesterday. He wouldn't enjoy anything with that pressure. He cast a last look at Ivy in the faint morning light. The thin strap of her linen shift had rolled off her shoulder and bared even more of her cleavage to his eyes. There wasn't much to see though. The outline of her breasts was humble but the chilly morning air had hardened the tips and they clearly showed through the fabric. He traced a fingertip from her neck over her clearly showing collarbone to her chest, pushing the neckline deeper. There, between the soft swell of her breasts, lay an angry scar, long and wide enough to have been caused by a sword and rough enough to show it ran deep. But it couldn't, she wouldn't have survived. It was too close to the heart and lung, his warrior mind supplied. Another secret to investigate. Ivy stirred slightly and Tristan retracted his hand. If he did this, he would do it with her awake.  
But first he needed relief of another sort and finally decided to get up. Pulling on his leather trousers he untied the money pouch. Glancing back to the bed, he fished out the demanded coins as pay and put them on the table. The rest he silently stashed away in a corner of his weapon stand. Then he stepped out and headed towards the privy.

The squeaking of the door hinges woke Ivy up. She stretched and nuzzled back into the pillow, not yet fully aware of her surroundings. When the memory flooded back to her mind, she sat up straight, eyes darting to the place next to her and then around the room. He was gone. Tristan was gone. And they hadn't ... he didn't ... there was no ...  
_Phew._  
Last evening, when she had waited for him to return, she had panicked. She had cursed herself for that stupid decision but was to proud and insecure at the same time to back out of the deal and not sure if he would even let her. She had tried to tell herself that he had a decent character and wasn't awfull to look at. In fact, a little soap and a comb would make a fine male specimen out of him. She had tried to tell herself that maybe there was an emphatetic soul in this rough shell but then she had called bullshit on that. Pretty Woman was a movie. Fiction. She had never had sex with a man she was not in love or at least infatuated with. Never. She wouldn't even know how to prepare herself for that act, what images to conjure up to make it bearable. And here she was waiting for a man with a reputation that should let her hide in the darkest corner she could find. She had been pacing the room, had tried to make herself useful by putting his clothes to drying, had set out the meal for him but hadn't touched his weapons. She knew men were possesive when it came to their stuff. That was a fact that hadn't changed over the centuries. Then she had paced again. What kept him so long? She needed this to be over. Or maybe she needed him to stay away longer so the night would be shorter? Oh god, would he keep her up all night? Hopefully not. This was supposed to be short, direct, goal oriented, wasn't it? Aisling had said so. Maybe she could speed things up. She had disrobed to her underwear and crawled into his bed under the scratchy blanket. Compared to her resting places from the last weeks it was quite comfortable.  
At one point her head must have hit the pillow because the next thing she knew was that she woke up and Tristan had been in bed next to her, asleep. Fuzzy images of the car accident swam before her eyes and she needed to get out, get away. This was not real. _THIS_ was the dream and her university job and dad's famous chili sin carne was real. Not this. _Never this!_ But as her mind cooled down and her bare feet started to take on the temperature of the stone floor she started to accept her situation. She had been at this point so often in the last months, had doubted this reality again and again but what was there to do? She couldn't change it. She just had to run with it. And so she crawled back into bed to the scar littered, sinewy warrior with braids in his mane and blood on his hands, who paid her money to cater to his desires. And she had accepted. What had become of her?

Ivy spotted the little stack of coins on the edge of the table. Was that her pay? Did he expect her to leave? She hadn't done anything yet. The calls from the bellman tore through the court yard outside and made her aware of the time. It was her usual get-up time when she slept in the hayloft. Stretching again she slipped out of bed and began putting on her dress. Today was a tavern day. Seeing that most tavern workers, herself included, spent the night in foreign beds, Vanora would run short on help in the morning and with the travelling merchants in town, she would have plenty of work. Opportunity to earn some more Asse. As she finished lacing her shoes she got up and headed towards the table. But she could not bring herself to take the money. If she took it she was a whore, selling her body, although the knight hadn't used it yet. Oh god, how that sounded. _Used it._ She wasn't ready for that. Circumstances at granted her another chance and she would make the best of it. Making up her mind, she left the coins where they were and left.

* * *

_Author's note_

Phew, done. One of the most difficult chapters so far. How to make them both agree to this deal in a believable way? Not so complicated for Tristan, as it does not matter to him who would service him. In the beginning at least. Once he knows it's Ivy the curiosity of the scout in him is piqued. For Ivy it was much more difficult and I don't know if the way I let her reason works for you. Actually, she herself doesn't understand completely why she agreed. But what had to done, had to be done. And of course I wouldn't let it play out the way one might think in the beginning. That would be too forseeable, wouldn't it? And Ivy would have most likely pulled the emergency brake in the last moment. It might also have required a change in rating from T to M. Rest assured, you will get a proper warning, if that happens in the future. For now you got a long and more or less cliffhanger-free chapter with a lot of Ivy/Tristan interaction. But don't think everything will get romantic from now on. Far from that. Time for some action, me thinks.

Thanks for the wonderful reviews, which were plenty for the last chapter! For those who wondered (and turned off private messaging): There was a hint in one of the earlier chapters who might be Gwenolyn's father. I might drop some more hints if it fits the situation and much later you (and the surprised father) will get told the full truth. The horse story Ivy told was 'The Black Stallion' from the 1979 film. Wonderful film with a magnificant horse.

And now to you, mysterious guest reviewer. You were the first to review (damn, you were fast) and, as always, you wrote the most elaborate review. An even longer one than the last. Linear regression analysis says (with correlation coefficient of 0.9974!) it takes only 16 more of your reviews until their word count is higher than that of my chapters. Something to look forward to! But misapplied statistics aside, I really appreciate your constructive feedback. Thinking of the events/chapters to come, it will take some good writing and convincing from my side to please you. It is nice to know which scenes left enough of an impression to be mentioned in a review. Thanks a lot! EDIT: Thanks for pointing me to the contempt/content mistake. I corrected it.


	13. awkward aftermath

Ivy had left the coins behind on Tristan's table end closed the door silently behind her, intending to leave for breakfast. She didn't get far though.

"Hey! What are you doing in here?!" a commanding voice shouted at her and before she knew it, a broad man cut off her exit to the court yard. Sir Gawain. A dirty blond mane was tumbling over his shoulders and sharp blue eyes, still a bit small from sleep, bored into her.

"What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

"I ... I am leaving for work." Ivy stumbled over the words.

"Aren't you that little thief who rescued Bors' brat?"

Ivy nodded mutely although she wasn't comfortable being called a thief. For heaven's sake, it had been one apple! One small, misshapen apple.

"What are you doing here in this ungodly morning hours?" he demanded again. This man wouldn't let up.

Ivy's eyes darted over his shoulder to the door at the end of the hallway. The only exit she knew. She stuttered again "I ... I was company."

"You?" He exclaimed unbelieving and eyed her thoroughly. "To whom?"

She couldn't help to feel slightly insulted by this reaction. "That is none of your business." she snapped. It had slipped out before she could check herself.

He narrowed his eyes due to her boldness. "You could tell anything. Who was it?"

Ivy didn't know if he was really not believing her or if he just wanted something for gossip. She mustered up the last bit of her courage and gave a non-answer. "Someone who cherishes privacy."

He took a step closer to her, raising his index finger into her face as warning. "Who was it?!" his tone more threatening than ever.

"Leave her be, Gawain." came a low voice from behind them.

Ivy didn't know if to be relieved or not that Tristan had shown up.

The blonde man turned around. "You?" His eyes darted back to Ivy and then to Tristan again. "Who would have thought?" his tone now more amused than anything else.

Ivy looked at Tristan over Gawain's shoulder, trying to read what she was supposed to do. He was clad in his rumpled undershirt and partially laced leather trousers, boots unlaced. His face gave nothing away. He didn't seem angry to find her here in the hallway but he wasn't pleased either. The tension finally melted away when he nodded his head just the tiniest bit, indicating the exit. She took it as permission to leave and fled as fast as she could without breaking into a run.

Tristan's gaze followed her until she shut the heavy door behind herself. There went his plans for the morning. Being honest with himself, he had began to doubt the decision to take her for money. She hadn't strike him as someone who would lower herself to that business, a thing no one ever came out of as far as his observation went. He wasn't thrilled to be the one to kick her into this mud pit. So he was glad that the decision had been made for him, when he found her outside in the hallway, fully dressed and cornered by Gawain.

"So, I take it you had a good night?" his brother in arms inquired with a smirk on his face.

Tristan answered by shutting the door of his room into Gawain's face, leaving him standing outside.

He strode over to his still warm bed and sat down. After kicking his boots off he leaned back onto the head board and contemplated things. The night hadn't been as unpleasant as he had expected. Except for her little outbreak he had rested well. And though unfamiliar as it was to him, waking up next to a warm and soft companion wasn't the worst thing. In fact, the closeness this morning, although it was probably unintentional on her side, had a lasting effect on him. His hand travelled down to the hastily done ties of his leathers. There was something he had to take care of. All by himself now, as it seemed.

Not much later he got up again. He had to hurry for breakfast, if he wanted anything of Van's tasty porridge. These kids of hers were vultures and any hopes for a reserve bowl of oats were in vain. Lacing his boots and donning the dried tunic he stepped to the table to take one of his daggers. It was then that he spotted the coins. Untouched. He had set them out for the woman to take as her pay and yet she had not taken them. Had she not seen them? Not dared to take them? Pocketing the money he strode out towards the tavern.

As expected Vanora's brood was already busy shovelling the warm mash into their mouths. Ivy sat among them, looking up at him shortly when he took seat, but quickly staring back at her food. Was that shyness he saw there? More shyness after they had shared a bed than before? Odd.

After the morning meal the crowd of children dispersed and the first tavern customers took their seats. Ivy collected the dirty bowls and took the wooden bucket to head to the well behind the tavern. Tristan followed. They might not have gone through with their deal but that did not mean it was void. She had held up her end of the bargain and spent the night with him in his quarters. That he hadn't made use of it was his own fault. He would honour his part as well and pay her the meed they had agreed on, although it was a really exorbitant sum. But he wasn't one who couldn't afford it. In contrast to Gawain or Lancelot he didn't spend a lot of his money on women or gambling. So he would connive it this once.

Just as she hoisted up the second round from the well and filled it into her bucket the knight stepped up to her. She had seen him linger at the corner of the tavern. What did he want? She sat the well bucket down and straightened up to look him in the eye. Then her eyes fell to his outstretched hand and the coins that lay in its palm. He was offering her money. And if she was not mistaken these were the coins he had left on the table in his room earlier. _Her pay_. Ivy swallowed hard. Was he still demanding her service? And here she had thought she had been granted a second chance by fate.

Tristan saw her face turn into something unreadable. When her eyes lifted back to his they held trepidation and a silent question. She didn't make any move, neither to take the coins nor to turn away.

"Your pay." he clarified in a raspy voice and moved his open hand towards her, encouraging her to take the offered money.

Her eyes fled to his hand and back up to his eyes again. Finally she spoke in a feeble voice. "I didn't do anything to get paid for."

She didn't want it? He was quite sure she could use it and yet she refused? Did she think there came further obligations with this offering?

"You shared my bed." he stated matter-of-factly.

Her eyes dropped in what might have been shame.

"It was my decision not to make use of it. You have done your part." Tristan clarified that there would be no consequences if she took the money.

To his surprise her demeanour changed at that declaration. She straightened up and lifted her head proudly, spirit back in her eyes. With a strong voice she stated: "I have not done any part. Neither will I in the future. Keep your coin and do not seek me out again for this reason." With that she took up the bucket and strode back towards the tavern without another glance at him.

Tristan was left standing by the well in the middle of the square, dumbfounded. He didn't mean to insult her and yet her response sounded like he had. Despite her defiant tone when denying him to pay her he had the feeling that it wasn't him she had wordlessly cursed but her own decision from last eve. The woman had come to her senses then. Although he should be at least a bit offended at being refused so easily it was respect he felt. Respect for her for protecting her dignity. But it was foolish not to take the coins. He knew she needed them to secure her meals and the necessities of life, such as proper lodging. She would refuse it if he tried again, stubborn woman, but he wouldn't let that stand in his way of upholding his end of the bargain.

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How she made it inside the tavern's kitchen on her shaking legs she had no idea but once the curtain closed behind her, Ivy set the bucket down and lowered herself onto the bench at the kitchen table. Dear god, why does every mistake she made have to come back at her again and again. Yes, it had been stupid to agree to this night together. Yes, she had been lucky to come out of it unharmed. Even untouched. Couldn't it just stay in the past? No, it had to come back and haunt her._ He_ came back and haunted her, followed her and offered money again. She knew he hadn't meant to force her into anything with it but her small voice of protection had whispered that he was the bad guy in this scenario. And her pride and dignity had flared up and prompted her snappy reply. Blaming him for her stupid decision didn't sit right with her. He didn't do anything wrong for the standards of this time, not even for the standards of her own time. Men hired women for money. Now and then. Thinking back at the night and the little time she had consciously experienced, he had been quite accommodating. She hadn't expected small talk or any caresses but he hadn't been ripping her clothes off either. He hadn't even roused her from sleep when he returned somewhen at night. He suddenly had been there when the nightmare had interrupted her sleep. Thank god he hadn't woken from the little outburst. Things might have turned out differently. And although she had climbed back into his bed she hadn't expected to find sleep again this night. Yet she had. In his caging embrace no less. The moment he had rolled over and slung his muscular arm around her she had bit her lip to keep in a shocked scream. The thought that he would now claim what they had agreed on had let the panic flare up again but then the movements behind her had stilled. She had listened intently to his regular breathing, felt the strong heart beat against her shoulder blade. His hand had rested on her sternum, gently pressing her to his chest. She had gripped his arm in case said hand would wander to her breasts but it didn't. She had waited and waited for another movement but the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against her back had lulled her into sleep.

Thinking back at it, her words at the well had been a bit harsh. She hadn't meant to blame him for anything. But she couldn't go back and apologize. There was nothing to say, really. Best to leave it all behind and behave like nothing had happened. Be friendly. Not ignorant but also not overly welcoming. Keep distance and be normal. That sounded like a good plan.

And she put it into action the same evening. It was the eve of Litha and the tavern was bustling. A big stake had been build on the fort's market and was set on fire when the sun sank below the horizon. Merry people surrounded the big fire, musicians at the side playing a joyful tune and the young folks dancing around. The main source for drink though was still the tavern and so there was a constant stream of people into the tavern to have their mugs refilled and back to the market to join in the festivities. The knights had not yet left their usual table but it wouldn't take long now. Ivy had brought over food and plenty of ale. The younger ones were already missing as was Sir Galahad. The other two seniors, Lancelot and Gawain, were eyeing the woman folks from the looks of it. Thanks to the exchange between tavern and market they didn't need to rise from their seats for that. Tristan was as he always was. Detached. Ivy had served him only one ale and the cabbage stew. She had figured out that he always picked the meat except when fowl was on the menu like today, then it was the soup. And it had been right yet again. She had the slight feeling he was looking at her more closely now but he didn't say anything. And she didn't either. The awkwardness she had expected was not there, only a little tension. Sir Gawain had watched her closely when she served his fellow knight but his attention was redirected quickly when Lancelot exclaimed "Look! That is her! And now tell me, isn't that worth the trouble?", pointing to the tavern entrance.

Soon after, the table was deserted and stayed empty for the rest of the evening. Ivy retreated back behind the counter, serving ale to incoming patrons. Vanora was glad to have her helping hands this evening as most of her usual girls were eager to join the festivities. There was nothing for Ivy in the market so she was content with her place in the tavern. Her night was a short one but she was relieved when she could half bury herself in the hay in her beloved hayloft. A distant scent of smoke still lingered under the roof of the stables but everything else was back in order. The horses were munching on hay and Ivy could rest above their heads. She half expected Tristan to show up and indeed she had heard someone enter late at night but whoever it was went right through and disappeared into the enclosed building.

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Two days after Litha the market was back to normal. All remains of the fire had been removed and the usual merchants along with the additional stands of the travelling salesmen filled the place. Tristan was taking his last round before he would pack up for the long patrol to the west.

"And I tell you she is a spy." A woman's voice whispered just around the corner from where Tristan stood currently. The last word piqued his interest and so he took the liberty to listen in.

"No." a second female voice silently but indignantly exhaled.

"Usha saw her returning from the woods this morning. What business does a woman have to stroll alone into the woods? And she wasn't carrying fire wood or berries or anything on her way back. And it wasn't the first time either." the first voice elaborated.

"Do you now who houses her?"

"No. Who knows into which bed she had charmed herself this time? Bewitching another poor soul just like that miller back in that raided village, may he rest in peace."

The second voice chimed in again. "I have heard she had been seen leaving with the scout one night."

"You don't say! The scout has been seen with a woman?"

"And he took her to the knights' quarters."

"No! That woman had ..."

That was the point Tristan let gossip be gossip and made his presence known by stepping around the corner.

The women fell silent at once, staring up at him with big eyes full of shock. Then their gazes suddenly dropped and mumbling an overly formal greeting with 'my lord' and 'sir knight' and whatnot they hastily scurried away.

Tristan grunted. Gossiping market women were worse than a pointy stone in his boot. Annoying like hell but no way to get rid of them. At least he could scare them into submission so they would mind their tongues when speaking about him and what he supposed to be Ivy.

Ivy. There was still something that had to be taken care of and he rather got it over with before going on patrol. Everything else on the market seemed to be in order and so he took the time to stop at a stand with tools and metal work, and weapons. A dark coloured blade among the highly polished ones caught his eye. He pointed wordlessly at it and the merchant hurried to present it to the knight. The two daggers and the long blade Tristan already carried promised the merchant a good deal for the day.

Tristan took the dagger and inspected it closely. The blade was tarnished but not rusty. It was thin and elegant, very straight, without nicks. Much smaller than his other daggers though. Including the grip it was barely longer than his hand and the grip itself was too small for his hand for proper handling. It was something made for a child. Something you would give to a son for his initiation. Or to a woman.

"It is a fine choice, my Lord. The blade is made of flexible yet durable steel and the hilt is carved from cherry wood. Very rare in these lands."

Tristan weighted it in his hands and twirled it through the air, testing the balance. It was indeed a fine piece. "How much?" he inquired.

"Oh it has travelled a long way from the south. And the fine wood and the excellent steel ..."

"How much?!"

"Four silvers, my Lord."

"Too much." he stated.

The merchant began to justify the price and praise his goods while Tristan critisized the bluntness of the blade. Seeing he wasn't buying things very often his aptness to haggling wasn't the best. He ended up buying the dagger nonetheless, spending a little more than the two silver coins he had planned for.

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Today was one of Gwellyn's days off so Ivy was doing work at the smithy again. When she returned with filled water buckets from the river she spotted Tristan right away. He was all geared-up, holding the reins of his dappled grey charger and Dagonet was working on one of the hooves. The light leather armour he wore reminded her immediately of the night he had taken her to his room. He had come from guard duty then and carried his weapons and the rain had drenched and coloured his clothes dark. He had taken them off piece by piece and when he had shrugged out of his damp tunic his undershirt had ridden up and revealed a toned stomach. Suppressed thoughts from that evening surfaced again and let heat rise up inside of Ivy. She wasn't sure if it was the underlying fear he might claim his right on her again or a reminder of her back then anticipation.

She met Tristan's eyes briefly and then headed inside the workshop, feeling his gaze on her back. Sitting at the wet-stone again, she could hear the men talking outside. Apparently the scout was going on a longer trip to the west and Dagonet wished him safe return. The prospect of walking the fort's allays for some days without the chance of running into him was a soothing one. Maybe her flurry thoughts would settle and the incident would be forgotten.

When she unwrapped her cloth bundle in the hayloft this evening to extract her comb something fell out of it with a clatter. She couldn't see it very well but when she found the long object and feeling along she discovered it to be a knife. Not hers though. She had no knife. But this one had definitely fallen out of her pack. She inspected it closely in the moonlight, running her fingers over its features. The blade was smooth and thin, the hilt fit into her hand perfectly. From all the blades she had seen in Sollin's and Vanora's kitchen and the smithy she knew that this one was a well crafted piece. She thought immediately of Dagonet. Might he have smuggled it into her pack? Maybe as compensation for limiting her employment? It was sure not one of his making and she could not see the smith buy a blade from another smith or a merchant. That somehow didn't seem right. But who else had access to her belongings? The children. No. Vanora. No, she had barely paid her back for the trousers yet. Other barmaids? No, why should they? Aisling? She couldn't afford this. And then her mind fell onto the one person she knew who was very fond of blades. Tristan.

Why would he give her a dagger? Was it something for her to keep or a message? Why a dagger? That man didn't struck her as one to give away such valuable things, let alone to a stranger such as her. But then, she might know him better than the majority of the fort's inhabitants, seeing that she had been sharing a bed with him. Not that she knew anything about him except for his food preferences and his dedication to his weapons and his horse. The little knife left her puzzled. But Ivy was not one to reject something useful when it was offered. The coins were a different thing though, but this dagger? It was a handy thing to have and if he wanted to give it to her, granted it was from him, then fine. She would keep it. If as a gift or as pay she wouldn't contemplate any further.

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The last night had been the longest for Ivy in quite a while. She went to 'bed' early seeing it had been a smithy day and had fallen asleep quickly. But since it had been a smithy day and today it would be tavern again she needed to clean up a bit. Dust and smoke clung to her and a quick splash of water to the face wouldn't do for her and her 20ieth century standards. The warm morning air promised a sunny day and so Ivy strolled into the northern woods towards the small lake. There should be plenty of time between breakfast and the dinner preparations at the tavern for a dip in the lake and a thorough wash of her hair.

A little to her chagrin she couldn't use the time to revel in solitude. Gwenolyn had found her and Ivy just hadn't had the heart to send her away. Looking at the scrawny girl more closely Ivy decided she could use a proper bath too. Her mother was probably still busy with the travelling business men and would be for as long as they stayed at the fort. They didn't even had the time to talk about 'the night'. Aisling had been relieved to see Ivy unharmed at the next day, but after only few words of greeting they had parted ways and Aisling had hurried back to her patron. She didn't know what had or rather what had not happened that night. But there had been enough time to make clear Ivy would not do it again and Aisling had to look elsewhere if anyone ever asked her to find them company.

Ivy took Gwenolyn's hand and began telling her another fairy tale on their way to the water. And since they were walking towards a bath, she chose the tale of Undine, the water nymph. The girl had listened intently and once they reached the lake she looked out over the water and inspected the shore line carefully. Ivy had to smile when a fish broke the surface shortly, jumping not even a hand high out of the water to fall back down instantly. Gwenolyn's eyes fixed the position and followed the shallow waves, now firmly believing it had been a nymph.

They took their time to wash and to comb their hair afterwards. Gwenolyn's blonde mane really was a challenge and Ivy missed modern day hair conditioner dearly. They had made themselves comfortable in a sunny spot close to the shore, resting on Ivy's outspread cloak. Ivy had not yet changed into her dress but was back in her leather trousers, since her apron and the skirt had needed a washing too and were now drying on a low hanging branch. Her duty today was in the kitchen first and until it was time for serving late in the evening, the ill fitting garment should be dry again.

She was just about to tie Gwenolyn's second braid when they heard hoof beats of a single horse approach. Ivy grabbed her new blade but kept it hidden. As it turned out, it was unnecessary. The approaching rider was Five and his mount wasn't one of the mighty war horses but more a pony-sized version. He sat proudly in the saddle, firm grip on the reigns while the small horse neighed restlessly. He unmounted and led his pony to the lake to water it, explaining that he was training to become a mighty knight and since he was now old enough his Pa had made Gilly share his horse. Gilly was getting his own big charger soon enough, since he was older and a real squire. Ivy complimented Five on the fine animal and smirked as the boy was nearly dragged off towards the shore when his pony decided it was time for drinking instead of idle chitchat.

Gwenolyn broke the silence by exclaiming there was a nymph at the shore across the lake. Ivy smiled but followed the pointing finger of the girl with her eyes anyway. Five watched out as well, since his older brother had been to this lake to fish for a fairy with the sacred fishing hook Ivy had made for Seven to trade. And he agreed with Gwenolyn, shouting "There! I see it too!" And then Ivy saw it too. A person hid in the reeds. A person who now realised it had been discovered and fixed its gaze on the three of them. The distance was too far to see the face though. And then everything happened so fast Ivy would wonder later how they had made it out of it alive. The person raised a bow and sent an arrow soaring over the lake to fall down just a few yards short of them. Shouts erupted from the other shore and more figures appeared. They all stared at them from across the water and then they started to move along both sides of the lake, to round it and close in on them. And their intention didn't seem to be a friendly one if the arrow was any indication. It was time to leave. And fast. It would only take them moments to reach them.

Ivy ordered Five to mount his pony, which was now starting to stamp its hooves in distress. Then she grabbed Gwenolyn and sat her behind him, commanding her to hold on tight. "Get back to the fort and give alarm." Ivy didn't know what from but she would rather have someone else find out. Someone who might be able to shoot back. Hopefully the boy was a good enough rider and the pony a trustworthy enough mount to make it back to the fort. She would have to escape on her own feet. She stuck the lone arrow to the saddle and smacked the horse across its croup. That sent it in motion and off they were towards the fort.

Ivy turned and wanted to grab her belongings, at least the dagger and the bundle with her coins and comb, but the strangers had almost reached the place where her cloak rested. She took off to follow Five's pony with only the clothes on her skin. Unfortunately one of the men had cut off this way down the path towards the city after the children had passed. A wild looking savage with a long blade in his hand. Behind her his companions had arrived. Through the brambles it was then. Ivy bolted to the right and stumbled through the thick underbrush, thankful to wear the sturdy leather trousers. Thorny tendrils scratched the skin of her arms but the rustling behind her pushed her onwards. The craze of the hunt let her not pay attention to the direction she was fleeing in. The last clearing that was somewhat familiar from her brief scouting trips after her regular bath had long been left behind. She was running blindly, now knowing where she went. Away. Just further away.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Hey there! You mad?!" Shouts and curses tore through the market. The customer crowd parted, scrambling away from the raging pony, which dashed through the square towards the knights' training ground, two guards from the gate trying to catch up with it.

Galahad stood on the fence around the training ground and watched out at the noise. A smirk rose to his lips when he spotted the source for the commotion. "I think they are yours, Bors." he commented over his shoulder to his comrade. Bors halted the axe he was swinging at Gawain's head midway. "What they done now, these little bastards?!" he grumbled and walked towards the fence as well. Just then the pony appeared, not even slightly slowing on its way towards them. One of the squires barely managed to grab the reigns and pull it around before it crashed into the fence, the motion sending small Gwenolyn from its back right into Galahad's arms. Five held on tight and righted himself atop his mount when they came to a stop.

"What the bloody hell ..." Bors began but was cut off by his own offspring.

"An attack!" Five yelled.

"I'll give you attack you little ..."

"No! At the lake!" he fumbled for the arrow Ivy had fixed to the saddle and waved it in the air.

"Strange men shot at us!"

That gave him the knights' full attention.

"Where?"

"At the fairy lake in the northern woods. They were on the other side and we thought they were fairies and then they shot an arrow and it fell short and then they came at us with swords and ..." He needed to take a deep breath.

Meanwhile Gawain had snatched the arrow from Five's hand. "The fletching isn't anything I have seen around here." he stated towards his brothers-in-arms. "Ready the horses." he directed at the squires who had been watching the training session. Whatever it was that had spooked the children should be investigated. Might be it was only a prank from the youngsters but the arrow was a strange one indeed.

"You need to help her!" Five exclaimed.

"Who?" Gawain's eyes shot to the scrawny girl Galahad had set down by now. Was she injured?

"Ivy!" Five explained further. "She sent us ahead to rise alarm."

Someone was still at the lake? They needed to hurry then. As fast as it was possible the horses were saddled, the blunt training weapons exchanged for sharp ones and the party was on their way towards the lake in the northern woods.

Counting the time the kids had needed to reach the fort, the time for the explanation and to ready the horses and the minutes they needed to arrive at the scene it might have been not much more than half an hour. Yet the place was deserted. Some clothes hung on a low branch to dry and a trampled cloak lay forlorn at the shore. On it sat a small cloth bundle and from under it peeked a shiny dark blade. In the soil around it a mass of footprints, leading in all directions. Gawain ordered men to go around the lake and follow some of these trails, others to swarm out into the underbrush.

* * *

**Author's note**

Thank you all for the positive feedback! Sorry it took me so long to continue. I put the story aside for three weeks to let the text settle. Today I looked at the scenes I have written out already, some of them taking part in the far future of this fic, and I got back into writing mood. Looking at the state of the current chapter I decided it wasn't too bad and I just put it out rather then let you wait any longer. I have no more ideas for great improvements. It is nothing spectacular and might even seem a little fragmented but it had to be written as a bridge to the next one, which is halfway finished. And _that_ one will throw you off course again, I promise.

To all my reviewers: Thanks for taking the time to type some response and please don't be mad at my for not answering any of it this time. I need to continue writing on the next chapter right now, getting scenes out of my head and onto the screen. That should be a good enough excuse.


	14. from the frying pan into the fire

x-x-x-x-x-x-x- Tristan's POV -x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The reports from the villages towards the western coast were alarming. Tristan planned to stay away longer than two days, but the long summer days had let him cover more ground than expected. He hadn't been as close to the coast as planned but he had seen enough as it was. Troops needed to be deployed as soon as possible and Tristan would tell Arthur that much.

He reached Fort Badon an hour before sunset the day after he left and the first things he noticed were the closed gates and the additional guards upon the wall. Had something happened while he was away? Groups of soldiers had gathered in the stable yard and Lancelot was giving out orders. He acknowledged Tristan's arrival with a brief nod of his head but continued to instruct the men around him. When Tristan entered the stable to unsaddle and feed his horse, Gawain and Dagonet approached him. The former knight was involved as well? Then it had to be something serious.

"Tristan, finally!" Dagonet greeted him.

_Finally?_ He had only been away for one night. They shouldn't have expected him back so soon at all.

"Did you encounter any bandits on your way back from the west?" the smith inquired without wasting a moment.

"No." Tristan stated simply. "Only rumours and hints."

Dagonet's face fell. Tristan's gaze shifted to Gawain, expecting an explanation.

The blonde knight filled him in on the news. "We had an incident this morning. We believe it was a reconnaissance troop of slave hunters."

"Believe?"

"We didn't catch anyone. In fact we haven't seen them either."

Tristan raised an eyebrow questioningly. Who had reported it then?

As if sensing the question Gawain explained further. "They stumbled upon a woman and two kids at the lake close to the birch copse in the northern woods. The kids made it back to the fort on a horse, frightened as hell, bringing in the story and this," he handed over an arrow with strange fletching. So it was a tale told by two kids and an arrow? That was it?

"The woman?" Tristan inquired while inspecting the arrow. The feathers and wood were unfamiliar to him.

"The search party found neither her nor the intruders."

That didn't sound good.

"We don't know what to make of it so far. Rumours in the fort say she might be involved somehow."

"She is not!" Dagonet interjected fiercely.

"You don't know that! Why would they take her? Why not just get rid of a witness?" Gawain shot back. They obviously had this discussion before.

"Then why would she leave her pack behind? Cloak, coins and all?" the smith questioned.

Tristan was beginning to get confused. A crucial part of information seemed missing.

"I tell you, Ivy is not involved in that." Dagonet defended.

Ivy. She was the one missing? All the trifles and gossip about her suspected alliance with slave traders, the raid of her former village, the foreign language she spoke; it all flooded Tristan's mind at once. Leaving one thought.

_That lying traitor._

She had tricked them all. Including him. Him of all people! He could not believe he had taken her to his room, to his bed, going out of his usual way. He had even given her a present; he had armed her with a blade! What a fool he had been. To think that he once mocked Galahad that even the kitchen maids knew more than him! Now it turned out these gossiping women in the market knew more than he himself. Knew_ better_ than him. He was Arthur's man for intelligence. If anyone wanted to know how much the king and his men knew about threats from intruders, slave hunters or bandits, he would be the best source. But he never thought that anyone actually had the guts and audacity to sneakily pry information from him. Not that he had given anything away yet. He had underestimated her. Damn, he should have known. He had seen that spark in her when she talked back at him in the stables, and in the smithy, and at the well. He had it tagged as defiance, as spirit, but had it been hidden superiority instead? She always knew what he would eat at the tavern, and the concealed glances she sent his way when she knew he was secretly listening to the stories she told. She had observed him and somehow managed to sneak past his boundaries. Fine. She had his attention now. His _full_ attention. And she will for sure not be happy about it in the near future.

Without another word, but clearly exuding rage and silently cursing his own ignorance, he took his pack off and re-tightened the saddle girth. His intentions dawned on the other two when he removed the sword from his pack and strapped it to his back

"Forget it. We have been looking all afternoon." Gawain informed him.

Tristan only sent him a mocking glare. _They_ had been searching. But _he_ had not. Knowing his luck they had trampled all over the soil, destroying all tracks, but there was still sunlight for another hour. If he left immediately, he might find some hints.

While he had taken the unnecessary items off the saddle, to travel lighter, he gave a short report of his own mission to Gawain, instructing him to inform Arthur and ready a unit for departure the next day. If there were enemy scouts, then there would be enemy troops hidden in the back land. And with that Tristan swung himself back in the saddle and kicked his horse into motion. Lancelot shouted something after him as he crossed the court yard in a fast trot, sending the soldiers scrambling out of his way. He assumed the dark haired knight was ordering him back. Tristan ignored the command. He had something else on his mind. To find that traitor.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x- Ivy's POV -x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The sun had sunk below the horizon almost an hour ago and it had taken the comforting warmth with it. Ivy rubbed her hands on her upper arms to drive out the chill that was seeping into her bones, longing for her flimsy cloak. The headless hunt was over and they hadn't caught her. Yet. They were still looking though. At one point the burning in her legs had become unbearable and her lungs and throat hurt from the dry air she was sucking in like mad. She had slowed down then and looking back she hadn't spotted any hunters. Sinking down behind a broad tree she had rested and taken a good look around. The high oaks prevented most of the remaining faint sun light to reach the ground. The thigh high ferns were unfamiliar to her, like nothing she had seen on her short walks in the forest around the keep. She had no idea where she was, or how far from Fort Badon she might be by now. It felt like she had run all afternoon. Sometimes slower, then faster again, but never stopping. She might have easily covered more than twenty kilometres, her legs felt like it had been a marathon. Her sports coach would be proud. Ivy snorted softly thinking back on the trail-running in her high school sports course. There she would drink two litres of some isotonic whatever followed by a steaming hot shower; then slip into comfy sweatpants, smelling of lavender fabric softener. Dad would pick her up and drive her home, where she would slouch on the couch and eat a turkey avocado sandwich.

Gods, she missed home. She missed it so much. Was it even there, somewhere out there? Maybe she could go back somehow? She barely remembered the night that had catapulted her from the twenty-first century to this dreaded place and age. It had been a stormy one. Maybe lightning had struck her, and somehow a parallel universe had been so close that the excess energy had thrown her into it? Damn, she should have listened more closely to Carl Sagan's TV show. Astrophysics and this quantum stuff had never been her forte.

Rustling leaves in the distance snapped Ivy's attention back to the present. She heard mumbling voices and hoped they wouldn't come any nearer. They didn't. But they didn't distance themselves either. As luck would have it these strangers decided to camp right there, maybe fifty yards from where she was hiding behind the tree and holding her breath. The tension was almost palpable but she was too frightened to run. Ducking below the ferns and crawling away on her knees in the dim twilight might shelter her from their eyes, but the noise would surely give her away. Maybe it was the smartest thing Ivy had ever done, or maybe it was the dumbest, but she stayed right where she was for the rest of the night.

One of those men had ventured close to her hiding spot once, and her heart had nearly given out, but then she heard the splashing of liquid against a tree. He was relieving himself and returned to the campsite shortly after. They had made a small fire, and from somewhere a fourth companion joined them, bringing a pack pony with him. She had tried to listen to their voices but they were too far away. Good for her because her rumbling stomach would have given her away on several occasions. All she could do for now was stay awake. It would do no good to start snoring (Not that she was a snorer. Not ever!) or even sleep talk. Her eyes had drooped several times but fear had jerked her awake again and again.

When the first red streaks appeared in the sky, heralding the approach of dawn, the strangers began to pack up. The forest around her woke too with birdsong filtering down from the tree tops. After the nightly silence it was almost too loud for her ears. Maybe it would cover the sound of her own footsteps? Her inner voices argued that she should stay in place, since it had kept her safe all night …On the other hand the strangers would not go back the way they had come… But most likely continue onwards which was exactly the direction she was hiding in. Making up her mind she fastened her shoe laces once more and tried to stretch her aching legs. Her thighs felt as if they had doubled in size, first running all afternoon and then sitting in the same position all night.

*_Crack_* it sounded from beneath her.

Fuck! Where had that blasted twig come from? Had they heard it? Ivy didn't dare to chance a look but she listened intently. The strangers had gone silent, listening as well. Then mumbling and footsteps. Run or hide? RUN OR HIDE? Think, Ivy, think!

She peeked around the large oak stem and what she saw was not comforting at all. Three of the barbarians were nearing her position with frightening precision. Their huge swords swept through the low lying ferns from left to right, and back to the left.

Panicking she checked the woods ahead of her. There was hardly any cover to find. She knew once she got up they would see, and then she'd have to outrun them. There was no chance in hiding any longer either. A twig snapped alarmingly close by. That was all it took for her to bolt. Shouts echoed behind her once the men had spotted her. She knew they were chasing her, but she was too busy looking out for fallen tree trunks and roots to turn around and check. If she lost her footing the chase would be over. Do not stumble, Ivy. Do not stumble!

It wasn't long until the air started burning in her lungs from the exertion. Yet her stiff muscles craved for more oxygen. Her followers had not closed up the distance, instead they seemed to fan out. She could hear two of them in the distance behind, and one to the left, but where was the last? There had been four of them at night. Something brushed her shoulder and lodged itself in a tree she just passed. Risking a glance she saw the shaft of an arrow, still wobbling from impact. A fresh wave of adrenaline surged through her weary legs, spurring her on.

Weaving through the trees, changing directions, and then suddenly a rustling very close to her left. She would never escape! The next thing she knew her foot caught on something, and the forest floor came very close very fast. At the same time she heard a strange whistling, then the distinctive thud of an arrow embedding itself in wood. In the tree directly above her no less. Damn root had saved her life. If only for a minute ...

She scrambled behind said tree and was paralysed by a sudden movement in front of her. Her body tensed, paralysed by fear. A figure stood behind a tree fifteen yards ahead, bow strung and an arrow trained on her. Ivy's breath stopped. All other sounds died away, the rapid beating of her heart thumping loudly in her ears. So that had been life. Couldn't she have skipped the last couple of months and ended it in that car accident?

Undergrowth crunched under heavy boots to her right. Her head whipped to that direction. All the while pressing herself further into the tree, praying it would make her invisible. And then another thud. But this time not as hard and resounding as before. In the next moment one of her pursuers fell to the ground not five feet away, an arrow piercing all the way through his neck. Her head shot back to the tree in front of her to focus on the man behind the bow.

Tristan.

It was Tristan.

Good God, she had never been so happy to see that man. He had come to her rescue. She really could jump up and throw her arms around his neck right now. Maybe even kiss him!

x-x-x-x-x-x-x- Tristan's POV setting in a little earlier-x-x-x-x-x-x-xx

Gawain's men had destroyed most tracks at the small lake and Tristan only discovered the suspicious footsteps after circling around the place three times and checking among the thorny bushes. He travelled all through the night at an awfully slow pace to not lose the tracks and just when the morning mist started to rise, he made out the lingering smell of burned wood from a camp fire in the air. He heard shouts from half a mile away. No woman's voice among them though. He cringed inwardly, for a scouting party they were not very stealthy. If he gauged right, they came in his direction with heavy hasty steps. Three at least, no, four. Choosing a broad tree for cover he readied his bow and waited. It didn't take long to make out movements in the distance. A figure was running through the thigh high ferns directly towards his position. They were light-footed when jumping over the fallen tree trunk, and just when they were close enough to take a secure shot he recognised the green tunic, the clinging leather trousers and the dark pony tail.

_That traitorous woman._

He readjusted his aim to her right shoulder. It would do no good to have her bleed out before he could question her properly. It might be better to catch her by hand to avoid any serious damage, but then he would need to put down his bow and risk being unprepared for her accomplices. No, a shoulder shot would do just fine.

Just when she was closer than he really needed for a secure hit, her foot caught on something and her body hit the ground with force, ripping a surprised high pitched yell from her throat. The next moment an arrow hit the tree where she had just been. Someone else had shot at her.

Tristan kept his aim while watching as the out of breath woman scrambled behind the tree for cover. Then her head shot towards him, only noticing him now. Her eyes were wide with panic, and trained on the tip of his notched arrow. She shrunk even more into the tree if that was possible, drawing her knees towards her body. Suddenly another figure appeared, clutching something long and shiny in his hand. Without thinking Tristan redirected his aim and soundlessly released the arrow, which pierced the attacker's throat and caused him to fall without uttering one word.

So she had fled from these men? Or had she not? Was this another trick? He met her eyes. There was no defiant spark now. She was terrified, if because of him or the pursuers he didn't know.

Approaching footsteps brought his focus back to the task at hand, but a gesture from the woman caught his attention. She held up three fingers and tonelessly mouthed the word 'three'. Then with a single thumb she pointing towards her right, followed by two fingers indicating to her left. Three more attackers, one to the right and two to the left? Tristan wouldn't trust these hints but they were a start. He indicated her to stay where she was and silently took off towards the next target. Should she intend to run again, he would just have to catch her later.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x- Ivy's POV -x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Ivy huddled behind the tree, knees drawn to her body, staring blankly at the body lying not five feet away from her. The foliage of the ferns shielded it from other eyes but since Ivy sat so close, she could see him just fine. He lay on his stomach, head turned away from her. His throat and face hovered slightly above the ground thanks to the arrow protruding sickeningly out of it. The soft earth beneath had soaked up the blood, lots of blood. The hand she could see appeared lifeless; but the moment it twitched Ivy flinched violently. She eyed the dagger at his belt, but did not dare to grab it now. That man might not be dead yet.

Where was Tristan? What kept him so long? In the distance she heard the ringing of metal on metal. Oh God, he was fighting these bandits. Alone.

Keep calm, Ivy, keep calm. He is a fighter. A knight. He will manage. You could not help him anyway, she reasoned internally.

It seemed to take forever until she heard soft footsteps nearing her position. She eyed the dagger again. He was a corpse, wasn't he? She let out a sigh of relief when it was Tristan who stepped around her tree. His mane was more dishevelled than before; blood was splattered onto his cheek and smeared across the breast plate of his armour and his eyes held a wild stare. A wild stare he was now directing at her. His breathing was heavy and his right hand clutched a long dao tightly. The sight would have frightened her out of her wits, had he not just saved her life. His eyes darted to the body covered by the ferns. He stepped over and kicked at it roughly, then turned it over with his foot. The man was dead indeed. Tristan huffed as if unsatisfied.

Meanwhile Ivy got to her feet, legs shaky from shock and exertion from the past day's events. How should she thank him? Saying 'thank you' seemed a little pathetic given the circumstances. Just as she was to open her mouth Tristan turned towards her, raising his sword to her throat. Ivy froze. Was he still in battle fever? Standing up was a stupid move, Ivy! Do not provoke him.

"Who are they?" he inquired, his voice deadly calm.

_What?_ How was she supposed to know? It was not as if they had a nice chat over a cup of tea last night.

"Who. Are. They." Tristan emphasised in a threatening voice, nodding his head towards the dead body but not taking the point of his sword from her neck.

"I ... I don't know." she stammered. Her back pressed further into the tree, her arms scratching against the rough bark, and the cold, sharp metal grazed her skin lightly. "I have no idea!" she exclaimed.

The look Tristan held wasn't as out of control as she thought. His eyes had narrowed to slits, gauging if she said the truth. Did he think she was lying? What the hell? These people had tried to kill her!

x-x-x-x-x-x-x- Tristan's POV -x-x-x-x-x-x-x

If she was acting it was a damn convincing act. Maybe a little more force would help this conversation along, but this was not the place and he was running short in time. The sun was already rising and he needed to return to the fort. The men would be preparing for departure right now and he needed to join them, to lead them to the hints he had found. It was a damn annoyance that he had no one to question but this silver-tongued woman. The first man he killed out of instinct, the second and third out of self-defence. The fourth however was a necessity. He had planned to take this one captive, but when he had mounted that pony and made to flee Tristan had to stop him, to keep him from alarming any possible comrades. The arrow had unfortunately impaled his lung, felling him from the small horse and killing him before Tristan could get anything useful from him. And that left him with Ivy, if that even was her real name.

He eyed the woman in front of him again and decided to play along for now. He knew he should bind her hands and feet, and just strap her to his horse to make it fast back to the wall. The struggle she would put up though might cost him more time and nerves than he was willing to spend. Lowering his sword he stepped back to the corpse again, careful not to turn his back to the woman. She relaxed slightly against the tree and rubbed her neck unconsciously. The dead stranger had nothing of importance on him, nothing that would give away his identity. Time to leave the scene and get back to the fort.

"Move," he indicated the way with his sword.

Ivy looked at him uncertainly, but started to walk nonetheless, now and then chancing a glance over her shoulder. It wasn't long until they reached another clearing, the one where Tristan had left his horse. It looked up lazily from where it was grazing. Tristan fixed the stirrups and untied the reigns from the saddle.

"You think I knew them? That I have something to do with them?" the question had hung in the air all the way to the clearing and Ivy had finally voiced it, when she could bear the tension no longer.

Tristan's fingers froze on the leather straps for a moment, then he proceeded to ready the horse without answering or even looking at her.

"Well, I don't. Just so you know." she clarified.

_Sure._ Tristan thought.

"They shot at me in case you didn't notice."

_So had he, almost._

"Get up." he commanded, ignoring Ivy's explanations.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x- Ivy's POV -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

She did, although her legs protested heavily. She was anxious of what was waiting for her at the fort but she couldn't stay out here all by herself now, could she? She would explain what happened and they would see reason. The idea she had something to do with those barbarians was ridiculous.

"Move forward," the knight ordered gruffly once she was in the saddle.

Well, this was awkward. There was not enough space to sit in front of the saddle and there was no way she could sit on the pommel. It was like riding on a plank, on the narrow edge. How that should work was resolved once Tristan swung himself up and pulled her back onto his lap. There was not enough space in the seat of the saddle and she was practically sitting on top of his thighs. Wasn't it just easier to let her sit behind the saddle on the croup like the last time they had shared his horse?

What Ivy didn't know was that Tristan had the same thought at that moment. But there was no way he was turning his back towards her. She might try something, like grabbing one of his blades, he thought. Better to have her in sight and in control, uncomfortable as it might be.

After they had made it onto a small trail, Ivy decided it wasn't all that uncomfortable. The hilt of something hard, probably the short sword at his side, poked into her from time to time, and the raised front panel of the saddle was pressing a little into her thighs but other than that? It was warm, much warmer than the cold and damp forest floor. And somehow, despite the obvious tension, it felt safe. Tristan was like a shield around her, protecting her back and caging her in with his arms. And it felt even safer after one of those arms wrapped around her when the gentle rocking of the horse's gait combined with her sheer exhaustion let her mind drift off into much needed slumber.

x-x-x-x-x-x Tristan's POV x-x-x-x-x-x

Tristan flinched when the woman in his lap jolted. He scanned the tree line but there was nothing that might have startled her. Soon she relaxed; her head began dipping to the side. Was she pretending to sleep in hope of slipping from the horse? If he had been captured, and was on a horse with another person, he definitely wouldn't dare risk sleeping. Tristan realised that Ivy had indeed had dozed off when her head lolled back onto his shoulder and she slumped bonelessly into him. He even had to hold onto her or she might have tumbled down.

While Ivy rested seemingly comfy against him, with her head tucked under his chin, Tristan thought about the incident. Looking at it naively one would tag her as innocent, but there were just too many little things that didn't sit right with him. First of all, she had been so close to the bandits after half a day and a night. Neither had she escaped nor had they caught her, but they had been right on her heels. As if they had sat down in the evening, mere feet away, and then resumed the chase, if there ever had been one, come morning. Then these walks alone in the woods he had heard of, and thinking back, even witnessed her return from one. What would she do there all by herself? And who was she anyway? For sure not the daughter of a peasant and judging her stature, her slender frame, her thin arms and soft looking hands she hadn't been doing much physical work before showing up at Fort Badon.

Tristan retracted his arm from around her when the North Gate came into view and jostled roughly against her to wake her. It wouldn't do to return to the keep with a suspect cuddled close to him.

x-x-x-x-x-x- Ivy's POV -x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It took Ivy a moment to remember what had happened. Her mind was still foggy. When she finally got her bearings they had already passed the city gates and were heading for the royal stable yard. It was still early morning and no people were on the streets although the fort was waking up slowly. When they reached the yard it was bustling with horses and soldiers. They all paused what they were doing to gaze curiously at the pair. The knight directed his horse close to the stable entrance and stopped near one of his comrades. Lancelot, she remembered. The Second-in-Command.

"Look what we have here." said knight stated.

Without a word of warning Tristan shoved Ivy roughly from the saddle before she could lift her leg over the horse's neck. He held her upper arm in a vice-like, painfully hard, grip to keep her from falling into the dirt until Lancelot took her over. What was that about? She could have dismounted just fine on her own.

Lancelot narrowed his eyes on her. "So?" he inquired.

_So what?_ Ivy knit her eyebrows together in confusion.

"Who were they?" he asked in a stern voice.

They? Oh, _they_. He too? How the hell should she know?! Ivy only shrugged her shoulders, anxiety rising quickly in her. The mass of armed soldiers, the intimidating stare on the man in battle armour in front, and the threatening silence from the scout behind were not helping.

Lancelot gripped her arm harder and shook her a bit. "Who were they?" he demanded again.

"I ... I don't know." Ivy began to stutter, glancing from one face to another.

The eyes of the dark knight flicked to Tristan, asking a silent question and taking in his blood splattered leather armour.

"Four dead, none escaped. Scouts." Tristan declared in clipped sentences.

"And she?"

Tristan didn't answer, just shrugged his shoulders.

"Who were they? Where are the others?" Lancelot inquired again, shaking Ivy for good measure. Her already unsteady legs nearly gave out.

"I don't know!" It came out as a sob. Why did no one believe her? She hadn't done anything!

"We will discuss this again when we are back and you better have some answers then." Lancelot threatened, laying emphasis on the word 'discuss'. He nodded towards someone over her shoulder and before she knew it she was seized from behind. The images of medieval torture instruments flashed before Ivy's eyes._ No! They wouldn't. She was innocent!_ But then, when had innocence ever rescued someone from torture? She awoke suddenly from her frozen state, yanking hard on the grip the two soldiers had on her arms. "No! I have done nothing!" she shouted desperately.

"We will see." Lancelot stated coldly. "Take her to the prison. Single cell, regular meals." he ordered the men at her side.

"What? No!" Ivy struggled again, even harder this time. The men made to drag her away, but she put up quite a fight, trying to free her arms and digging her heels into the dusty ground. "Let me go!" Then she pleaded with Lancelot "I know nothing, I swear!" but that bastard had already turned away from her. They could not throw her into a cell! Not the prison! Please not the prison! She would tell them everything she knew, which was nothing. Not who these bandits were, nor if there were more of them; or even where they might hide or what they wanted. "Hear me out!" she pleaded. "I have done nothing, I know nothing! I can only tell what I have seen!"

Lancelot sent a short look over his shoulder. "We don't have time for that now." and with that he turned towards the stable doors, his fellow knight in tow.

"Tristan!"

It was the first time he heard his name coming from her lips, and it cut through him like a knife. There was no title attached to it, no 'Sir', and it was laden with pleading and, at the same time, accusation. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned back. The scene around him seemed frozen. Ivy had stopped struggling, the guards had stopped dragging her towards the prison. His brothers had stopped readying themselves for departure. Her eyes were on him, her lips slightly parted as if she would start pleading at any moment. But she didn't and there was no need for it. He knew what she wanted to say without ever hearing the words spoken.

_Why are you letting them throw me in a dungeon?_

_What have I done?_

_Speak up for me!_

_I am innocent!_

_You saw me running from the attackers, didn't you? You have seen the fright in my eyes._

He wasn't sure what he had seen back in the forest. Or maybe he didn't want to dwell on it right now. He needed to focus his mind on the mission ahead and the dungeon would do good work to keep that woman out of his thoughts and under safe lock until he returned and could think things through. He turned back and proceeded towards the stable. He half expected her to hurl curses at his retreating form, but the only thing that reached his ears before he was out of ear shot was a simple "I have done naught and you know it." It wasn't even screamed. Just loud enough for him to hear.

Upon entering the stables Lancelot lightly clapped on Tristan's shoulder. "We will deal with that once we return. She'll survive to be locked down for a day or two."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay with this chapter. My brand new beta-reader has returned the corrections a month ago and there just wasn't enough time to incorporate them until now. It took long but in turn you have been presented with a grammar and wording improved and spellchecked chapter and I can tell you there have been a ton of improvements. Thanks to you, Beleg Strongbow!

Thanks also to all the patient readers and reviewers. Over twenty reviews for just this chapter! Hmm, maybe I should wait another two month before posting the next one? Nah, just kidding. I try my best to hurry up with the writing. And special thanks to the mysterious guest reviewer who once again left a motivating review of epic proportions.


	15. dark places

When she stumbled from the stable yard, held tight between the two city guards, Ivy looked into the faces of the men and boys along the way. Soldiers were taking formation and cavalry horses were mounted by their riders. The looks of many young knights and squires, teenagers only, passed over her but no one said anything or looked at least sympathetic. Some of their looks were even hostile, as if she was already found guilty of something. Within moments, the guards had dragged her down the alley to another big brick building, the sight of it quite familiar to Ivy. The prison.

"No," she whispered. "No!" Louder this time. She started struggling again, panic flaring up. Not because of what might happen once the knights were back. No, this time it was a deeper fear, rooted deep inside her soul. To be put in a dark hole and be forgotten by the world, like she had been in the hospital. Sure, it had been bright and bustling with busy people running along the hallways, doctors and nurses, paramedics, and worried visitors. But none of them spoke to her, really spoke to her, more than the routine. When they asked how she was feeling, they meant "Can you wiggle your toes? Is your back aching? Please turn left, now right. Bend forward. Is the surgery wound itching?" and not "Oh darling, I am so sorry for your loss, and that ex-boyfriend of yours is a dick."

None of them cared for her other than poking her with needles, changing the bandages and making sure she obediently swallowed the truck-load of pills they forced upon her. In the end, Ivy knew the nurses' schedule off the top of her head, recognized when one had visited the hair dresser or changed their perfume or bought new shoes (although they were all white sneakers) because they were the only people she ever saw. She had been abandoned by the world, bound to her hospital bed for months, first by coma and then by its aftermath. She would not be forgotten again!

"Tell someone!" She cried out, looking wildly between the men who held her arms in iron grips. "Tell someone where you bring me!" Someone had to know! Someone who would think of her, who would believe her, who would help her. "Tell Dagonet! The smith, you know him?" She pleaded desperately. The guards exchanged a look over her head but paid her no mind any further. "Tell Dagonet!" Ivy cried. She hadn't seen him in the court yard, but then, he wasn't a knight any longer. And his apprentice was back. Would he even bother to come looking for her? "Or the King! Tell the King!" King Arthur was a just man, someone without prejudice. At least that was what they said around the fort. Surely, he would listen and not abandon her? The harsh men at her side snickered. "He has to know! Tell the King!" Ivy repeated with a quivering voice. It faded away in sobs and the resistance in her body began to melt away as the dark prison entrance came into view.

The guards hoisted her down the stone steps and into the cell. Before she knew it, the heavy wooden door was shut behind her and she stood in the dark. Her wobbly knees gave out and she sank to the cold stone floor. At the end of her strength, all that was left were tears. And she cried. She hadn't cried like this since she learned of the death of her father. Her wails mixed with garbled pleas in her native tongue, pleas to let her out, to listen to her, to believe her. Head hanging low, tousled hair plastered to her wet cheeks, propped up on trembling hands, she slouched against the cobbled stones.

The time went by and the sun rose higher outside, now sending thin beams through the tiny barred window high in the wall of her cell. Noon had come and Ivy's desperation and pleas had turned into accusations and curses. Her voice was already raw and half of the words died in her throat but that didn't stop the flow of obscenities in Latin, German and the few Gaelic words she knew. By the time a guard opened the heavy door to set an earthenware bowl and a mouldy piece of bread on the floor, the only things that came out of her mouth were hoarse whispers. All she could do to emphasize her point was to grab the bowl and hurl it at the guard. So she did. Her aim was a bit off though and it smashed against the door, spilling all its contents and breaking into shards. The door was shut and she was alone again. After grabbing the bread, she crawled over to a heap of straw in the corner and settled down. It took away the chill from the floor and reminded her a bit of her cosy hayloft.

She stared at the opposite wall while nibbling at the chunk of bread. It tasted awful and nothing was left of the soup. Her voice had now left her completely, but she was determined to not be forgotten in this hell hole! She will be remembered and if in a thousand years someone found the ruins of this fort, they will know what ignorant jerks Britain's knights were and what unjust fate she had suffered by their hands! Determined she gathered the last bit of energy and stumbled over to the door, picked up the biggest clay shard and started to edge the first words into the wall. It was more like drawing with chalk, since she couldn't carve into the hard stone but rather write on it.

A while later, her arm was aching from all the writing, some of it even done left-handed, her legs had given out some time ago so she sat down and leaned against the unyielding stone while finishing the last warning in the lower right corner. It had all started with the declaration that King Arthur's Britain was anything than just and full of equality. Somewhere, she had stated who she was, how she got here, the century she guessed to be in. A praise for Dagonet was written in capital letters at eye level, a damnation of Arthur's scout right above (some underlined words thankfully untranslatable expletives). In total, it was a wild mixture of scripture and ancient graffiti. If she forgot to mention something, it was squeezed in with smaller letters or ran half diagonal between other word groups.

Soon the late afternoon light tinted the cell in red and she settled back onto the heap of straw. No strength was left now. None. Her anger had subsided; it had flown from her belly out of her mouth at first, and into her hands afterwards. Now, all that was left was bitterness that started to turn into indifference. When the cell door opened again and another bowl was set down, she eyed it from her position. Food, as awful and stale as it might taste, should improve her situation.

Would it?

No, it would improve her condition, not her situation. But of what use was a healthy condition when one would spend their life in prison or being pushed around like an unwanted mutt? She was tired of it. Tired of trying. What had she been thinking? Waking up in ancient Britain and being welcomed by everyone? Sollin, the miller, was a rare exception and that episode had ended so suddenly by the raid of his village, and his death. The events after on her way to the fort, and the cold shoulders everywhere, had crushed her new found confidence; a confidence Sollin had helped her build up over last winter. Dagonet had been like a light in the darkness that was her desperation, but he had not been a second Sollin. How could he? He had a family of his own to care for. All the other acquaintances she had met along her way had been kind but not really caring. They had to struggle enough with their own life.

Vanora.

Aisling.

Tristan.

Tsssss. Tristan. How could she have thought he was sympathetic? Looking back, he had always been distrustful; and if engaged in interaction, he had been seeking his own advantage. And now, she was discarded for someone else to decide over her when he could easily have supported her by speaking only a few words.

That sounded familiar.

But no, she would not go there with her thoughts. Never again. That was in the past. And since there seemed to be no future either, she could very well end it all here. Now. Or at least soon. She knew all to well that she didn't have the guts to lay a hand on herself that way but she had determination and an iron will. If she could not end it with action, she could do it by not acting at all. By not eating. Not drinking. She knew that from experience, too. It was only difficult in the beginning and she had a head-start already. Once past a certain stage, it was all just a waiting game and what else was there to do other than wait? So she let her dinner stand right where it was instead of wolfing it down, and curled in around her rumbling stomach on that pathetic heap of last year's straw.

The second day of Ivy's imprisonment went by in a blur. She bordered on unconsciousness yet was aware when someone brought her breakfast and set it next to the bowl from last evening. Slight stomach cramps didn't let her find rest in dreamless sleep. Instead, images from her past mixed with recent experiences, faces morphed into one another, identities blurred.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The King's men returned at sunset the day after they had left. Stable hands took care of the horses and the infantry men and squires headed for the mess. The knights, not satisfied with the rations the mess had to offer, and able to afford better, hurried to catch dinner at the tavern before the kitchen closed down for the night. Only the munching and slurping of hungry men could be heard from their table.

"Good to see you all back," Dagonet greeted. He had been late with closing down the smithy and, drawn in by the commotion, spotted his brothers' return. When he stood next to Tristan, he added more silently "Tristan, a word."

The scout nodded without looking up, busy soaking up the last remains of soup with a chunk of bread.

"There is talk you brought Ivy back yesterday but no one has seen her since." Dagonet stated, an urgent undertone in his voice.

The scout continued to munch silently.

"Don't fret, Dag. Your little helper has gone nowhere." Lancelot added in from his position at the table.

Dagonet turned towards his former commander, waiting for further elaboration.

"We put her in a cell until further interrogation," the dark knight explained.

"You... WHAT?!"

Lancelot raised his hands in surrender,"Just until we were back. To make sure she is still around."

Dagonet was fumbling for words in his quickly rising anger. "You..." he looked at Tristan again, who still did not meet his eyes. Shaking his head in disbelief, the smith turned away from the table and marched towards the fort's prison. They put her in a cell. For all he had learned from the children's telling she was the victim, not the perpetrator! And she hadn't struck him as someone who would take detention well.

"Dag, wait!" Lancelot was calling after him, but he didn't slow down his strides. Within moments, he was at the prison entrance and forced the guard at the door aside with a rough shove. The soldier started to complain and drew his gladius, but somewhere behind, Dagonet heard Lancelot's placating words. The narrow stairs down to the cells were barely lit by the torches on the wall. At the end of the hallway sat another guard, who sat up sleepily when Dagonet neared.

"Which one is the woman's?" The former knight waved his arm at the doors.

"Sir, I have no..." The soldier started to deny.

"Which one?!" Dagonet's voice boomed through the underground hallway.

The soldier knew very well of the smith's former position as knight of the Round Table and of his deeds on Britain's battle fields. He pointed a shaky hand at the second last door.

"Open it!" Dagonet demanded, leaving no room for discussion.

Meanwhile Lancelot had made his way down to them and started to calm the situation. "Dag, it was only for two days. We can deal with that tomorrow and…"

His former brother in arms turned towards him with blazing eyes. "Two days are two days too many. And here I thought you all remember, and learned, from the last time we went into a dungeon to rescue the innocent." He addressed Lancelot and Gawain, who had appeared at the bottom of the staircase. Dagonet was exaggerating a lot, he knew, but the ignorance of his brothers and the unnecessary trouble they put Ivy through only added to his anxiety about her fate since she disappeared at the lake.

"Two days!" Lancelot repeated, holding up two fingers.

But Dagonet didn't hear him. He shoved the guard aside as soon as the lock was opened and entered the dark cell. He stepped directly into something hard and felt a sloshy liquid splash over his foot. A fast step back outside and he snatched a torch from the wall to illuminate the cell. It had been a bowl with food, now emptied onto the floor. Right next to it lay the shards of another bowl and chunks of bread in a dried puddle of food. In the corner of the cell, on a heap of straw, lay the woman in question, unaware of her visitor. Lancelot had stepped into the cell behind Dagonet and took over the torch when it was handed to him.

The big man went over and knelt down next to the woman. "Ivy?" He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She stirred but was not completely aware of her surroundings.

Lancelot meanwhile inspected the spilled meals at the door and turned towards the keeper. "You were supposed to feed her two meals a day."

The keeper hurried to explain. "I did, Sir. One in the morning and one in the eve. She hurled the first bowl at me and didn't touch the others."

Lancelot stepped towards Dagonet to give him better light as he tried to wake Ivy up. She seemed to struggle. Pathetic being, after only two days in a cell with meals and straw in the middle of summer, Lancelot thought. That had been nothing compared to the detention punishments he had to endure in his first years at Fort Badon. When he saw a white shimmer out of the corner of his eye, he held the torch closer to the wall.

It was covered entirely in scribbling and scratches, from floor to ceiling, from left to right. He could make out neat Latin letters written all over it but the words were clearly not Latin and made no sense to him. At the ground in front of the wall lay shards of broken earthenware the woman had apparently used to edge the words into the wall in a frenzy. They ran across in different angles, small and big, some even underlined. While Lancelot still tried to decipher the meaning, Dagonet had picked Ivy up and was on his way out.

Gawain followed the large man out of the prison to the courtyard, where the woman in his arms began to struggle. "Let me down," she mumbled. Dagonet hesitated but finally did as she asked. However, he kept an arm around her shoulders to steady her on her wobbly feet.

They made their way over to the tavern, where all patrons fell silent as the big man sat the skinny woman onto a bench and ordered a bowl of stew, bread and watered down ale. She looked unhealthily pale and shaky, her hair dishevelled and smears of dirt on her face and hands. Vanora hurried to bring a bowl, and all the while sent dirty looks towards the knights' table. Gawain held himself in the background, but close enough to the table to hear what was spoken. Dagonet sat down beside her.

Ivy picked up the spoon and stared into the rich stew. Its smell rose to her nose but it was anything but enticing. She had refused to eat while still in the dungeon and was past hunger, and the stomach cramps since this morning. She stirred the food half-heartedly with her spoon until she finally laid it back onto the table, and gently folded her hands into her lap. "I am not hungry," she announced in a hoarse whisper.

Dagonet sent a concerned glance towards Vanora, and then back to Ivy. "You haven't eaten in three days. It will do you good."

Gawain didn't know what to make of this. He knew she was hungry. She had to be after three days going without a full meal. He had heard her stomach rumble on their way to the tavern several times.

As if to emphasize her determination, Ivy shoved the bowl away from her and repeated "I am not hungry." She had done it before. When she was in the hospital after the accident and learned of what she had lost, and was not able to retreat to reclusiveness, she had just refused to eat until they had let her go home. To a silent, empty home.

"Eat. You need to regain your strength," Dagonet encouraged.

Ivy raised her eyes to his. "Why?"

"Why?" He asked, puzzled.

"For what? To struggle from day to day just to have a meal in the evening? To hide myself away at night in some barn to find sleep in a heap of straw? To stay alive only to freeze to death next winter because all I have are these rags? I think not." Although only whispered, her words sounded surprisingly sincere.

It all confused Gawain even more. Surely, it is not possible to starve oneself to death in front of a filled table. At one point, the hunger will become overwhelming. He reconsidered after seeing the woman's determined stare at the bowl in front of her. She might be a bit crazy.

Dagonet opened his mouth to speak again, but then he spotted movement on the street just outside the tavern. The incident had reached Arthur's ears and he was nearing the tavern with Lancelot and the prison guard in tow. Well, technically, Dagonet had broken into the prison and freed a, by the authorities, legally (if unjustly) imprisoned person. He got up from his bench to meet Arthur before he reached the table. Meanwhile, Two took a seat next to Ivy and encouraged her to taste the stew, which she had prepared almost on her own.

"Arthur, hear me out." Dagonet tried to halt his former commander, and now King.

Arthur hesitated but felt he owed Dagonet the possibility to speak his mind. His trustworthy friend had never defied orders without a reason. He paused his advance to listen.

"They put her in a cell without cause after being hunted through the woods by the invaders for a day and a night. After she enabled the children to flee into the secure bounds of the fort." He reported what the children had told him.

"That still needs to be verified." Lancelot interjected.

Dagonet send him an angry look. "And so you just throw her into the dungeon instead of asking her?"

"We were leaving. It was only for two days." Lancelot justified.

"Two days have done more damage than you think." Dagonet referred to her dulled will to live.

As if on clue, Two's voice rang through the tavern. "Ma?! MA!" She called panicking for Vanora. Looking for what the commotion was about, they saw Ivy sag against Two in a boneless manner. Vanora was slapping her cheeks lightly to wake her up when Dagonet, Arthur and Lancelot arrived at the table.

"Come on, girl. Wake up," she commanded.

Ivy opened her bleary eyes but could not focus on anything before they fell shut the next moment.

Vanora leaned Ivy over onto her own shoulder and instructed her daughter to get up. "Prepare Three's bed. She needs rest."

"No." Arthur's authoritative voice cut through the scene. Two halted her steps and Vanora looked up at the King. "Put her in one of the guest quarters close to the west wing," and after turning to Lancelot he added "She shall stay there until strong enough to be questioned." It was the order to lock her away and to provide shelter wrapped into one command.

Dagonet stepped forward and lifted Ivy's limp body into his arms, carrying her to the said room himself.

-x-x-x-x-x-Tristan's point of view -x-x-x-x-x-

Tristan had watched the entire incident from his seat at the head of the knights' table. He had contemplated to follow Dag to the prison, but if anything, his presence might agitate Ivy further and prompt her to cause the scene he had expected the moment Lancelot had sent her to prison. Thinking back, it might have been a little too harsh but it had only been for two days and it was the prison for _special guests_, not the dungeon for common thieves. No harm should have befallen her there, but if so, then he might have a _conversation_ with the responsible guard. He readjusted his opinion once Dag came into view, the woman on his side just a shadow of what Ivy had been two days ago. She had been exhausted and a bit ruffled back then but now she was devastated. Her complexion had turned ash-grey, and the smears of dirt on her face and her knotted dishevelled hair strongly contrasted with her usual well-groomed appearance. Her cheeks seemed hollow and her eyes sat deep in their sockets, surrounded by dark shadows. How can two days of detention do that to a person?

When she refused to eat what was offered (he didn't hear what was spoken on their table), he immediately thought of her defiance. But in fact, it was quite the opposite. Her head hung low and her shoulders slumped down, her stare lifeless into nothingness.

When Arthur approached, he thought of joining their little gathering. He had given a short report of the happenings from two days ago while they were on campaign but he had mulled it over and over in his head since then. Looking at the events from different angles, it might be necessary to amend or readjust his opinion. His hesitation took the decision away from him when Ivy fell unconscious. The situation might be graver than expected. Dagonet quickly left, taking her with him. Tristan was curious to follow but dismissed the idea when Lancelot joined their table again, explaining Arthur's decision. The black knight scoffed at the pathetic woman and the drama she created unnecessarily. Tristan would have time to think things through again, at least until the next morning.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Ivy did not wake up again this evening. The next morning however, Two shook her awake. Ivy was more rested, but still weak from her lack of food. When the teenage girl placed a bowl of porridge topped with plums into her hands, Ivy only stared at it.

"You need to eat. Ma said not much longer and you will not be able to." Two declared.

"I know." Ivy answered flatly and put the bowl onto the night stand.

They didn't speak further. Two soon left unsettled and not knowing what to do. Ivy fell back into a slight sleep. With the pressure of imprisonment gone, it was more restful than in the cell but she didn't find peace here either, proper bed or not.

Dagonet dropped by to find an uneasily resting Ivy, wrapped up in a woollen blanket and twitching in her dreamful sleep. He eyed the still full bowl of now cold porridge with concern, but had not the heart to wake Ivy up. If not food, she got at least sleep, and with combed hair and a cleaned face she looked more healthy than when he took her out of the prison cell. The golden morning sun coloured her skin with a healthy warm glow, hiding her paleness well from his eyes.

Around noon, a seemingly important man in his early fourties paid her a visit. The medicus as she soon learned. He listened to her breathing and counted her heart beat but in the end he said she must eat to recover. As if she didn't know this. He also left a pungent smelling paste and some bandages for the scratches on her hands.

The next morning, Ivy did not even turn towards the door when the creaking hinges announced yet another visitor. Two was probably just bringing another bowl of porridge. Slow steps could be heard when someone stepped closer to the bed. And then it hit Ivy. A soft wave of the mouth-watering aroma of honey and butter along with the yeasty smell of warm bread.

"Is this how you greet visitors where you come from?"

Ivy turned in surprise. And as the voice had indicated, it was not Two who brought her breakfast. It was Lyria, who set down a small cloth-covered basket on the table and stemmed a hand into her back for relief. Ivy sat upright and was suddenly wide awake.

"Well?" Lyria asked.

"Sorhhhh... I di no..." Was all that escaped Ivy's dry throat before she was seized by a bout of coughing.

Lyria rummaged to get a corked bottle out of her basket and hurried over to Ivy, handing the still gasping woman the flask. "Here, take a sip."

The warm milk laid itself into her throat like silk and calmed Ivy immediately. "What are you doing here?" She asked her visitor as soon as she could.

"Why, nice to see you, too." Lyria feigned to be offended.

"Sorry. I did not... Good morning, Lyria." Ivy excused meekly.

Lyria smiled as brightly as only a pregnant woman could. "And now to the important part. What is this about?" She gestured to the bed and the full bowl of yesterday's stew accusingly, putting a stern face on.

"Nothing." Ivy said flatly.

"Nothing?! Listen, girl, you have to take better care of yourself. That can easily cost you your life." She began lecturing Ivy as if they were best friends for life.

"That kind of was the purpose." Ivy admitted.

"Wha..." Lyria's words escaped her. "Why?"

Ivy shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, you have to have a better explanation before you do something like this." Lyria responded, her tone outraged. How could someone willingly do this to themselves?

"I am tired. Tired of it all," and with that Ivy tried to explain. Lyria sat down on her bed and laid a hand onto Ivy's blanket covered leg compassionately.

After Ivy had finished, Lyria had a lot to digest. "Not that it would matter but why do it by hunger? It seems such a long and agonizing way. Why not take a knife?"

Ivy raised her eyes to Lyria's and told her matter of factly "Oh, it is harder than it sounds to cut yourself deep enough to bleed to death. Believe me, I have tried." And she had failed to even pierce the skin.

Lyria's eyes widened in shock but she was also curios. "And someone else…"

"No." Ivy stated clearly. "I know nobody who is trustworthy enough to do it." What she meant by trustworthy was to do it fast and precise, and not take advantage of her. She might be able to name someone skilled enough to do it, but trustworthy? Far from it.

"Trustworthy?" Lyria inquired confused, quite not believing she was speaking about such matters as if it were daily business.

"Oh well, it has to be done properly. Otherwise its pain and misery…"

Lyria raised her hand to quieten Ivy. "I know. I have seen it. In the infirmary. I assisted the healers during my first winter here, and there were so many soldiers who..." Lyria fell silent, a hand covered her mouth and nose as if to block out the memory of an unpleasant smell.

"Enough of that. You look pale. You should go for fresh air. Isn't Dagonet missing you?" Ivy tried to comfort her and change the topic.

Lyria looked sheepishly at the blanket, which gave Ivy ideas.

"Does he know you are here?"

A slight head shake from Lyria was her only response.

"You came here all by yourself? From your home, by foot, in your condition?!"

And suddenly the roles of chastiser and chastised were reversed. The friendly chiding soon turned into a pleasant small talk. Lyria reported of how Dagonet nearly chopped his thumb off when building a crib for the baby and that he should rather stick to smithery than woodwork. Lucan's shoulder injury from training was improving, and after being home bound for a few days, he started to steal away when she was taking her afternoon nap.

At one point, Lyria unwrapped one of the freshly baked braided yeast buns from her basket, asking Ivy if she would mind her eating it and lamenting on how hard it was for a highly pregnant woman such as herself to carry around such delicious goods without eating them. The baked good shimmered golden in the morning light, the honey covering drawing long sticky strings when Lyria took a bite. She made a sound close to moaning when she started to chew. Ivy had to swallow dryly, watching Lyria take another bite and another, relishing in the taste with closed eyes. After popping the last bit into her mouth, she delicately licked her fingers clean and then glanced up at Ivy. "You want one?" Lyria mumbled around her last bite, careful not to spit crumbs over the bed.

Ivy rolled her eyes upon this whole show.

Now, Lyria could not hold back and a grin that spread across her face. She felt Ivy's will to forego food crumble. "Aw, come on. Take one." She presented the basket, which held at least four more of these delicious pieces.

That got Ivy's attention. She gnawed at her lip and finally reached out for a yeast bun. It was warm and sticky and the moment it hit her tongue she saw stars. If from the sudden sugar high or from the incredible taste, she didn't know. Lyria watched with satisfaction as Ivy nearly inhaled the first piece and before she knew it, Lyria had pressed a second bun into her hand.

When Ivy slowed down a bit, Lyria walked her through the events from her point of view. "First, let me say, Dagonet was worried as hell about you and so was I. We had no idea what happened to you that day at the lake. Dag only learned it once the search started, but there was so much commotion, and the officers made him stay behind. He could not go even search on his own!"

Ivy sipped a bit of milk while Lyria continued to fill in the details.

"And then they went on campaign, telling no one you had been brought back to the keep and locked in a cell. No one knew!" Lyria threw up her hands exasperated. Then her eyes narrowed, "Except for that featherbrain of a scout."

Was she speaking about Tristan? She should rather not addresses him as such directly.

"If he ever dares to cross my door step again, he better wear armour." Lyria's stare was a bit absent as if mentally listing her kitchen inventory and deciding what would do the most damage. Then she went on. "Well, he went on campaign with the others. So that was that. Dag had to interrogate him when they came back the next day to learn of your whereabouts. And then he broke into the prison."

Ivy's eyes went wide. She hadn't realized that Dagonet actually broke into the cell to get her out, probably breaking the law.

Lyria shook her head. "Stupid man. That could have easily gotten him into the cell next to you. Good thing Arthur is not so impulsive, and more reasonable than all of his knights together." Lyria seemed to know them better than she had let on during Ivy's first visit to her cottage.

"And then we have another stubborn and unreasonable subject." The pregnant woman inclined her head, looking towards Ivy.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I am eating. You see?" Ivy held up the third bun on which she had started to nibble. These things were addictive.

"Yes, I see," a warm smile graced her features. "And once you are finished, you will sleep and then eat some more."

That was as far as Ivy's plan went as well. "And then?" she asked.

"Then you will attend the questioning Arthur has planned for you. They are investigating the whole incident and your interrogation was just postponed due to your condition." Lyria explained what she knew. "Listen, Ivy. I am sure you had nothing to do with these bandits but the knights don't know that and it is their job to keep us all safe. They have to be cautious."

"But they didn't even ask me! They just assumed and... what about not guilty until proven?"

Lyria had never heard of that phrase before but it seemed reasonable.

"Just tell them what you know and they will see reason. Make it clear how you feel about your treatment."

Oh, she intended to. While Lyria had talked, Ivy's anger about the situation had flared up again and the resignation was forgotten. She would tell them her piece for sure. "Is insulting a knight forbidden by law, punishable by death or something?" She inquired curiously.

"Uhm, I don't know. I still have my head and I sure did say one thing or another to knights who deserved it. Mostly Lancelot..." Lyria contemplated. "Maybe phrase it carefully," she suggested playfully.

"Hmm, I can do that." Not that Ivy planned on going on a cursing spree but she might slip in a slight here or there.

The depth of the conversation lightened when Lyria started to tell her why she had insulted Lancelot, repeatedly. It gave Ivy a detailed picture of his character. "... and then he really had the guts to turn up on Beltane, still nursing a black eye, and…"

They were interrupted when the door opened and Dagonet's head poked in. Once he saw his wife, he entered completely and closed the door behind him. "There you are! I have been looking for you all over the fort!" He chastised.

"Well, I had to deliver my magic honey buns. See?" She indicated Ivy, who was still nibbling on the third one.

"Hey," Dagonet's face lit up when he saw Ivy eating. He wasn't one to show emotions openly but his relief was plainly visible.

"Hey." Ivy answered. "Thanks for getting me out there," she added before he could say anything else.

A simple smile and a nod was his reply.

Then Ivy adressed Lyria again. "Thanks for your visit. I owe you. Both of you."

"Pay it forward. I was once told when in your situation, and I did," Lyria explained.

"I will." Ivy assured her. "And now back to your home before you lose your water on my bed." Ivy jokingly pulled the blanket closer.

"Visit me, once you are free to go. Will you?"

"I will."

Ivy fell into a deep sleep after her two visitors left and she had finished the third honey bun. They really were magical. The rest of the day and the next where spent contemplating what she would tell at her interrogation. She wasn't sure what setting to expect. Would there be her in an empty room on a stool and the inquisition around her? Or would it be like in court with the King as judge?

Two had been relieved to see Ivy improving and brought greetings from her busy mother along with a huge pile of fried oat cakes for breakfast and stew for dinner. She also reported that Aisling's girl had asked for her and that her fairy tales are dearly missed by her regular evening audience of children.

Sooner than Ivy had hoped, the day of the interrogation rolled around. After breakfast, a maid delivered her clothes along with her other belongings sans her knife. She also helped her apply some of the herbal paste onto her scratched arm and shoulder.

x-x-x-x-x- Lancelot's point of view -x-x-x-x-x-x

Lancelot did not knock before entering the room. They had waited three days for that pathetic woman to recover. It was time to get some answers. Answers to who the invaders were, how she evaded them in the woods; and more importantly who she even was? And what did her crazy scribblings on the cell wall mean?

The woman in question sat on the cot, her bare back turned towards him. He paused shortly upon seeing her upper half completely uncovered.

He was quickly interrupted by the maid, who had been applying something onto reddish scratches on the woman's shoulder. "Sir Lancelot! This is no sight for a man! Outside with you!"

In contrary to her request, he stepped inside completely and crossed his arms in front of him. "Get dressed. The council is waiting," he said to Ivy's back.

The maid gasped for air but was soothed by Ivy. "It is fine, Sibia. Just hand me my chemise."

Lancelot's gaze, meanwhile, wandered over Ivy's bare shoulders down her sides to her leather clad bottom and back up again along her slightly visible spine. They stopped their upwards travel at the prominent scar that adorned her back. Slightly to the right of her spine at the height of her heart, and as long as his hand was broad.

Ivy noticed his stare from the corner of her eye and knew it was glued to her scar. She was neither shy nor demure when it came to her body. In her time, foreign men had seen her in equally spare clothing lying on the beach. And after spending months in a hospital as show case to physician after physician, she was used to stares upon her naked skin. After sliding the chemise over her head, she got up and turned towards the knight. When she stepped to his side and grabbed the tunic lying on the table, Lancelot's gaze was automatically directed to her chest. Not because of her breasts, but because of the scar between them, which showed above the deep neckline of her undergarment.

It was the matching scar to the one on her back. The iron rod from the cargo bed of the truck had entered at her front and exited next to her spine, nailing her onto the passenger seat of the car. Her dad in the driver's seat hadn't been so lucky. They had hit his lung, his liver and his heart, letting him bleed out in seconds.

When she turned her back to Lancelot to slip on the tunic, she heard him utter "Someone ran you through."

"Yes," she confirmed without looking at him while knotting the strings on the tunics neckline.

"They missed the heart and lung?" He asked cautiously. He had never seen someone with a wound in that position survive. Surely it must have hit something vital.

"Who said I have a heart?" Ivy replied dryly and stepped outside into the hallway, waiting for him to escort her to the council hall.

* * *

**Author's note**

Yes, it took me long, and no, it wasn't to reap more reviews from you (despite my joking comment after the last chapter). It just took that long. I hope the chapter was worth the wait and I am sorry that you have to wait for the next chapter to read about the interrogation. I felt that this one had a good length and it was a suitable point to stop. So, next chapter is fighting action! Verbal fighting of course.

This is the second chapter that was corrected by my beta reader Beleg Strongbow and once again, the outcome is so much better than the raw version. Awesome job!

Big thanks to the readers who took the time to review. Although I do not answer to many reviews, I appreciate them all. Even the itsy bitsy tiny ones. Some of you were spot on with their wishes and their predictions (one review was describing a scene I had written only the day before in such detail, it was spooky). However, I will not reveal who was correct. You will know in due time.

myterious guest: thanks for the after-publishing corrections. I have incorporated them into the last chapter.

At last, a request for help: I need someone who speaks decent French and someone for Russian. I plan a few sentences for the next chapter and I am reluctant to rely on Google translate (I have seen horrendous outcomes for my own native tongue). Give me a hint in your review or send a PM? It might take some weeks until I take you up on your offer.


	16. resurfaced

For translations of foreign languages (marked with *), see end of page.

* * *

Lancelot marched past Ivy and took the lead back to the meeting room he had come from. The meeting itself started shortly after breakfast. Arthur even went as far as to exempt the knights from their morning routine. A little exaggerated if one asked Lancelot since the younglings wouldn't utter one word during the hearings, the older ones might give their opinion, but in the end it would be up to Arthur, Lancelot himself and possibly Tristan to decide upon the matter.

Tristan had given his report. Again, much to the scout's annoyance. Lancelot could understand his brother. First, he had reported to Lancelot, then to Arthur himself and now again to all. That was a lot of talking for a man such as Tristan. Then, they had heard Dagonet give his opinion on that woman's character, which was, to no one's surprise, the best he could have given.

Currently, Vanora, as a second employer, was speaking about her character, too. That was something Lancelot did not need to witness since he had received an earful from the red-head over the last three days whenever he came near the tavern. And although Bors' wife was much more cautious when dealing with Tristan, even the scout had avoided the tavern like a leprosy-ridden brothel.

So, Lancelot had thankfully accepted the order to get the main suspect out of her cosy bed and into the hearing. Finally! Arthur had let her rest for three days to recover. All because she had to sleep one night in prison and hadn't had lunch for a day. On her own choosing, one might add.

The little talk and his observations in her room moments ago had him thrown off track a little. She was walking behind him now, only just staying on the verge of his eyesight. Her strides were long and confident, as were his, and her demeanour wasn't all that mousy and subdued as usual. Not that he had watched her or anything. He had hardly noticed her working in the tavern, to be honest. Hers was not the sight to draw in his eyes. He looked over his shoulder briefly and she stared right back, as if she would snap _"What!?"_ at him any second. There definitely was something simmering under the surface none of them had seen so far. But why was that? Was she a spy after all?

When they arrived at the wooden double doors towards the hall, Lancelot paused and turned towards her with a stern face. "Do as you are told and only speak when you are asked" he instructed. She did not nod, neither affirm in any way and Lancelot had the feeling that there was much more to expect than whiney complaining and assertion of her innocence.

The moment they entered the hall, all eyes turned towards them. Vanora stood at the other end of the table, where two chairs were left out so everyone around could see her. She paused, holding her words. There was silence in the room as the occupants regarded the newcomers. Arthur had turned slightly in his chair and gave a nod towards his Second-in-command, then a slight inclination of his head towards the far end of the room to indicate the empty seat for Ivy. Lancelot stepped around towards the side of the table Vanora was standing at to lead Ivy to her place. Behind Vanora stood smaller chairs at the wall, one occupied with another witness to hear.

Ivy was not following Lancelot though. The scenarios she had played in her head over the last two days had steeled her somewhat towards dealing with the knights and not being intimidated too easily. What she had forgotten to prepare for was the table. It may sound ridiculous since it was only a piece of furniture. But, hell, it was THE ROUND TABLE. It left her awestruck. How could such a simple wooden thing incite such deep respect in her? When Lancelot cleared his throat, she was pulled from her trance and finally made her way to the seat he indicated. It took her a lot of will power to not reach out between two knights and run a hand over the worn surface of that legendary relic.

Vanora greeted her with a warm smile, while the other woman sent a hostile glare. Ivy narrowed her eyes in thought. She had seen that woman before, and from what her feeling was telling her it had not been a pleasant meeting. As if any meeting with the town folks had been pleasant! Lyria, Dagonet and the Vanora clan were an exception, of course. The usually talkative red-head was now unusually quiet and collected. But then, it was the King's meeting hall and the whole court was present.

"Thank you for testifying. You may take your leave now." Arthur addressed Vanora formally.

She gave a slight nod and turned towards the exit, but not before putting a hand on Ivy's lower arm and squeezing it gently for encouragement. Then, Ivy's last ally left the room.

"Lady Livia, you stated to have witnessed unusual activity of the suspect. It is your turn to speak - but be aware that this court will not look kindly upon false accusations."

The woman next to Ivy stood up and stepped forward to the table. She then started an elaborate tale of her own daily doings.

Ivy, instead of paying close attention to something that could decide her fate, started to muse and let her gaze wander around the table. There was the King, much more authoritative than he had been at their meeting in the tavern weeks ago. Next to him, his Second-in-Command, Lancelot, who shot her an irritated glance while probably trying just as hard to listen to the speaker as she was (but failing just as much!). Then a young knight who swiftly averted his gaze once she caught him watching. Next was the blonde Sir Gawain, who she hadn't sorted in the friend-or-foe-scheme yet. Then another youth, who was actually managing to listen to the woman speak. Moving on was Galahad, one of the first knights she had met, then another youth who seemed to be just as intimidated as she was by the whole setting.

The next seat she skipped without letting her sight even graze the tip of his sleeve. She had seen who was sitting there when she had entered the room and she had promised herself to not look at him again. She didn't want to risk an emotional outbreak and that man and his behaviour had her boiling under the surface. So her gaze made a wide berth around him and continued to measure up the rest of the bunch.

Her attention snapped back to the reporting witness when she made a wave with her hand in Ivy's direction and continued to tell how she had seen her wandering to the woods in the north. Alone. Repeatedly. Her voice couldn't have been more scandalised.

The cloth merchant! This was the woman the cloth merchant was flirting with before trying to get the better of her. Ah, the potter's wife. Aisling had told her some tid bits about her when she had agreed to buy the cloth in Ivy's stead. Apparently, she saw herself as the epitome of morality, while she was stretching the definition of fidelity to new measures.

Just when she started to tell what she had heard from others about Ivy's past, Arthur interrupted her. "No hearsay. We have heard a witness testify about this episode already."

They had heard someone talk about her past? Her past in ancient Britain, that is. Stories from the burned down village. A survivor probably. Ivy could only imagine what light that had shone on her, since the villagers had been anything but accepting. If only Sollin had survived the attack, she would have been spared all this.

The King spoke some words of thanks to the witness, who in turn dipped a curtsey and sat back down, sending a depreciative sideways glance to Ivy.

"What is your explanation to this?" the King turned towards Ivy.

_Showtime._

Ivy stood up and stepped forward until her fingertips grazed the table. Dungeon or death was the worst outcome and three days ago she hadn't cared. She wouldn't care now. Shall they have their scapegoat; she will not bow.

"Her observation of my walks to the woods is correct." Ivy declared in a neutral voice. "And I do not think you need to question her any longer. Her husband should dearly miss her help in the cloth shop." she added nonchalantly.

Some knights around the table spurted confused faces since the woman in question was the potter's wife. Said woman huffed indignantly for being not known well enough by the insolent suspect. Arthur's eyes, in contrast, narrowed slightly, anticipating Ivy's next words. "Lady Livia's husband is the potter, not the cloth merchant," he corrected her nonetheless.

"Oh, is that so?" Ivy faked surprise.

The potter's wife turned red from anger and embarrassment. A soft snicker from somewhere around the table that was immediately silenced by a sharp glace from Arthur added to her discomfort.

"We thank you for your information, Lady Livia. You may leave now and not speak of this to anyone outside of court," Arthur instructed her.

The potter's wife curtsied again and hurried to get outside, starting to rant before the doors closed behind her. Arthur slowly turned back to the suspect, who sported an innocent look and blinked expectantly at him. He bit back the rebuke for indirectly accusing the potter's wife of adultery. He didn't want to bring it to attention to everyone who had not gotten the clue. And he saw Ivy's point.

"So you do not deny you regularly wandered the northern woods alone. For what purpose?" he wanted to bring the investigation forward.

"I mostly went to the lake near the birch copse. For washing."

"You went all the way just for washing? We have a spring at the fort."

"So I undress in the middle of the court yard to wash?"

The rumbling around the table indicated that Ivy might have stirred the imagination of one knight or another. Arthur looked a bit baffled by her directness. "No. Of course not - we have a bath house for that," he explained.

"For which you have to pay," Ivy countered.

"You take a bath every day?" a voice from somewhere around the table inquired curiously.

"Almost."

It might have sounded ridiculous to most of the knights. Tristan could confirm it from what he had seen, felt and smelt that one night before Litha. If he chose to speak up, that is...

"Is this about my hygiene standards?" Ivy started to take lead of the conversation. "Because if it is, you might also want to know that I brush my teeth and that I use soap. Real soap. Can you imagine?" she mocked.

"No, this is not about your bathing habits. It is about your general non-conformance." Arthur made clear; overlooking her snide remarks this once.

"Like what?"

"Women do not wear trousers." Galahad contributed from his place.

Ivy's head snapped around and she bit right back. "And where I come from, men don't wear skirts." she hinted at the kilt he sometimes wore.

Two seats next to Galahad, Gawain almost spit his wine over the table.

"I wouldn't laugh that loud if I paraded around the prettiest hair of the keep that could rival any noble woman's hairdo." she directed sweetly at the blonde knight, who, by now, started to cough on his drink. With tears in his eyes, he pointed at Lancelot and wheezed out a good-natured "That would be him."

While Galahad had recovered from her sudden attack, and Bors just leaned back to enjoy the fight, most of the younglings were struck dumb by Ivy's audacity and tone. To Tristan, it was no surprise at all. They had cornered her like he had back in the stables and she fought back. He anticipated the moment she would turn on him after striking at on knight after the other but this moment never came. In fact, she hadn't even looked at him, not once, not even a fleeting glance from the corner of her eye.

You have been overheard to speak a language that sounds suspiciously like Saxon." Lancelot started to add his part, silently warning Arthur with a glance to not let this get out of hand. "These are proofs," he added.

"You call this proof? For what? I do not think you know the difference between direct evidence and circumstantial evidence." Ivy almost asked if these words were too big for him to understand.

Instead, she chose another dangerous road to head down. "Let's see," she demonstratively laid her finger to her lips and began to slowly wander around the table, intending to get as much distance between the First Knight and herself. "You," she pointed at Lancelot "speak Latin. You are paid in denari. You have served in the Roman military for 15 years. You work at a former Roman fort, executing the orders of a former Roman commander." The room had gone silent around her from the tension. She stopped when she reached the opposite side of the table and rested her hands on it. "Clearly, you must be a Roman."

Lancelot was up and had his dagger rammed into the table top within the blink of an eye, shocking his younger comrades. His more seasoned brothers had seen that one coming.

Ivy proceeded as if nothing happened. "So I speak another language. And you would know it is Saxon, because Ihr habt schon so oft Sachsen getroffen und Euch mit Ihnen unterhalten bei einem Tässchen Tee und Keksen. Ist das so?" The present men could only assume from her tone of voice that the last part was a question, because none of them understood a word. "Was? Will denn keiner antworten? Hat's Euch die Sprache verschlagen? Wo sind denn hier die Sprachexperten? Keiner?" The men around her looked bewildered by her easy switching from one language to another.

She looked at Lancelot questioningly. "Not Saxon enough? Then maybe… je devrais parler français. Vous savez, le langage de la Gaule? Non pas que ça soit plus proche du Saxon, mais puisque que je le parle assez bien, je pensais l'ajouter à la conversation. Vous pouvez dire des choses tellement désagréables en français et ça sonnera toujours comme une déclaration d'amour à vos oreilles. N'est-ce pas merveilleux?"* She rambled on without a point, stressing the soft flowing melody of French hoping everyone around the table will notice it as another language.

"Oh, now I know what you want!" she interjected before she started listing the only Russian sentences she knew, making them sound as if she could hold a complete conversation. "Ya khochu zakazat' butylku piva i morozhenoye. Gde vash tualet? Kak ya mogu dobrat'sya do blizhayshevo kafe? Skol'ko eto stoit? Oo meenya bootilka votkee."** No one needed to know that, in reality, she was only ordering a beer and ice cream and asking for the toilet. Yeah, she knew that one test lesson in Russian would pay off eventually.

"Where was that last one from?" Gawain interrupted her tirade with genuine interest. Good, because she had run out of languages anyway.

"It was Russian. From far north above the Black Sea."

"How far?"

"So far that the sun does not set in summer." The white nights at her visit of Saint Petersburg had been spectacular.

"That the sun doesn't set? What nonsense is that?" Lancelot intercepted.

"No, I have heard that before. From fur traders from the north when I was a boy." Gawain explained with awe in his eyes. "You have been there?" he asked.

"Once." Ivy answered truthfully.

"You ever been south to the Black Sea?" Gawain couldn't stop his curiosity. Had she ever been to Samartia?

"No, but south east. To Greece." He was a little disappointed but at the same time awestruck. This woman had travelled a lot in her young life.

"You have been to Greece?" Arthur now interjected.

"Aye." Ivy confirmed.

"Are you from the South?" Lancelot inquired.

"No."

"Then why have you been to Greece?" Arthur was slightly confused.

"To see the Akropolis?" Ivy half asked. Confused faces around the table told her no one knew what the Akropolis was, except Arthur.

"Have you been to Rome?" he asked, now getting a little homesick himself.

"Aye. Very impressive, but so many loud people." Ivy gave a short statement. She was not sure which buildings already existed at this time and didn't want to make dubious statements.

"But where are you from, then?" Lancelot asked, bringing them back to the topic. "What people, what tribe?"

"I claim no people my own." She couldn't say Saxon now, although it wasn't too far off.

"Where were you born, woman?!" Lancelot was losing his patience.

"East of here, north of Rome. Do you have a map?"

Lancelot narrowed his eyes, Arthur likewise. Did that mean they didn't have a map or that they didn't want to show her one? Maps were probably a big thing in this time and to share that knowledge had to be well thought trough. Oh well, Ivy could always improvise. She had so many geography lessons in the past she knew the map of Europe like the back of her hand. Although it might be different and probably a lot more accurate than what was currently around.

She stepped next to Galahad at the table and dipped her finger into his wine goblet. He was too perplexed to object and was soon captivated by the lines she drew on the table. The rough outlines of Europe soon appeared

"This is the north," she explained while drawing what she knew as Norway and Sweden. Then she added islands to the left. "Britain. Hibernia. Iceland."

"Iceland?" Oops, too much knowledge. She continued to draw the southern regions.

"Iberia. Rome. Greece. Karthago. Egypt. The Black Sea," she listed cities and regions she could vaguely place in this time.

Arthur had made his way around to her side and admired her extensive knowledge of geography.

She seemed to have seen many maps or looked at maps often. But where and why?

"And I was born here," she finally pointed at her home.

"That is Saxon land." Arthur stated. So she was a Saxon.

"It is German land. Not everyone beyond the Rhine is Saxon." Ivy tried to remember what she once read in Wikipedia. "I think you might call me a Langobard or maybe a Semnon."

"I do not think Romans have been that far into German land." Arthur contemplated.

"No, they have not. After Varus messed up in the Teutoburg forest they never crossed the Rhine again."

"You know of Varus?" Arthur was astonished once more.

"Why, yes. It was pretty memorable, wouldn't you say?"

"Who is Varus?" Galahad asked confused. This conversation started to go over the knights' heads.

"Varus was a Roman general with some important position on a German outpost. The Germans turned on him for taking their land and trying to rule them and he was defeated by Arminius in a legendary battle. He lost all his men, like three legions or so. Close to ten thousand men, I think."

"Ten thousand?!" Gawain exclaimed in amazement. The Germans had succeeded where the Samartians had failed.

"How do you know all this?" Arthur got back into focus.

"From school. Teachers told me." Ivy stated as it was the most obvious thing.

"Before we digress any further, we should continue with the matter at hand." Lancelot interrupted what might have become a lengthy conversation between only Arthur and Ivy.

"Right," Arthur reminded himself, looking at his suspect to ponder his next question.

"I might be more helpful if I knew what I am accused of." Ivy interjected.

Arthur looked up at her, considering his words but Lancelot beat him to it. "Aiding the enemy in raiding villages and deporting and killing the people of Britain."

Ivy had suspected something along those lines but the words hit her hard nonetheless. She didn't let it show though. "And to know how often I bathe and why I wear men's garments is helping to shed light on that?" Cynism was one of her best friends and it was showing.

Tristan watched Ivy very closely and tried to read what she wasn't telling. After much probing, they had extracted where she came from but what brought her to Britain? What of her people and her family? What was true about the silly ramblings of the kitchen maid from the raided village Ivy had spent the last winter in? Were it any other suspect, Tristan would have long asked Arthur to leave the interrogation to him, in a lone room. But he somehow had the suspicion he would bite on stone with this one, like in the stables.

That scene just wouldn't leave him alone. She had stood her ground and openly doubted he would do anything to her. Had it been a lucky guess or had she been that good in reading him? And more importantly, would he act differently this time? Would he really use his usual… techniques of persuasion? He rarely had to resort to that when questioning women and since the war with the woads ended, he hadn't questioned a woman at all. Much less one of higher standing as Ivy seemed to be. Speaking several languages, knowing the Roman Empire and the lands beyond, drawing complex maps from memory, historic battles, teachers; someone had invested a lot in her education. And she had hid it well, hiding in a dirty smithy and the kitchen of the tavern. Little did he know how far Ivy's knowledge really went.

At one point, Ivy started to lay out the events of her 'meeting' at the lake and the hunt afterwards until the scout's appearance. She didn't say his name though. She referred to him as 'the knight'. That was as much acknowledgement as she was willing to give to his person. No one noticed except for the man in question, who silently added it to the other points on his 'is she ignoring me?' list.

Thankfully, finally getting some facts distracted Arthur and his knights from her earlier outburst.

"So you tell us you hid behind a tree for the whole night just a few strides from these bandits?" Lancelot shook his head in disbelief. It was a scenario Tristan had mentioned as a possibility when recounting is sight of events and he had reacted the same back then. What sane person would do this? Hiding in the vicinity of imminent danger?

Arthur hadn't made his opinion known yet and instead inquired about her history and the events of last winter and the village raid.

Ivy told this story as well, starting at the point she turned up in the woods of Britain. She knew, as soon as she finished, the questions about the time before would start. There was little time to spin a believable story. And she had guessed right.

"But what had brought you to Britain?"

"A ship." Ivy reprimanded herself silently for that snarky answer and quickly added "As a blind passenger."

"Why did you leave where ever you came from?"

"I was fleeing." That was even true. "One day my home just… disappeared. No one close to me survived." That was true as well, in the widest sense. The fuzzy phrasing left a lot of room for interpretation.

Lancelot immediately attributed the scars he had seen earlier to an attack. "No family left alive?" he inquired.

"No." Ivy stated evenly. "My father was hit while not even an arm's length away from me and bled out onto me in the blink of an eye, if this is what you wanted to hear." The images of the accident flashed before her eyes, but her voice didn't quiver.

Lancelot's imagination supplied him with quite different images than Ivy's since she hadn't said anything about an accident. In his head, it all was an attack of Saxons, or whoever, and it was bloody and gory as any battle he had seen is his life as a knight. Would he have just heard the words in her flat voice, he might have had his doubts; but he had seen her scars first hand.

The severity of the events she described, although in only few sentences, brought the interrogation to an end. Neither Arthur nor Lancelot wanted to probe on such a traumatic incident any more. They unconsciously put her another inch closer to the victim corner, and away from the suspect corner.

Tristan took her past as a good reason for her behaviour. One who was once close to death was looking at it differently afterwards, and might take threats and danger less seriously than others. He knew that from experience.

"I am sorry for your loss." Arthur found his voice again. "We thank you for giving your sight on things. You may return to your room and await a decision." Ivy nodded and followed the guards who escorted her back to her room. So that had been the interrogation. It hadn't been as 'medieval' as she had feared. It was quite civil in fact. But would the decision be just as civil?

Back in the table room, Arthur dismissed the knights except for Tristan and Lancelot, his main advisors when it came to security. "What is your opinion on her tellings?"

Lancelot spoke first. "That woman should learn to hold her tongue."

Arthur nodded knowingly. "Aside from that."

"The recent events sounded a little far-fetched, but they fit with Tristan's story." Lancelot admitted. "The last winter, no one _really_ believed that kitchen girl when she talked about witch craft, did we? As for the past: Another village raid and killed family. It is not exclusive to Britain, you know. And I have seen evidence of her story beforehand."

Arthur's eyebrows rose, slightly confused. Tristan's eyes narrowed. He had seen a scar on her, which he now had connected with her tellings of the past. But it lay so deep and hidden, she had to be almost naked to reveal it. And when had Lancelot seen her naked?

"What kind of evidence?" Arthur inquired interested.

"A scar." Lancelot confirmed Tristan's suspicion. "Two, in fact. As wide as a sword cut."

Two scars? Had there been one even lower on her? And how did Lancelot see _that_ one?

"One on the front, one on the back." Lancelot continued. "Run through right here," he indicated his own chest. "She didn't deny when I asked."

So she had been to Lancelot's bed, too? Tristan needed to know, telling himself it would help the investigation. Something about her trying to extract information from Arthur's officers... "When did you ask?" he inquired.

"Just before her testimony when I went to collect her. The maid was tending to some scrapes on the neck and shoulder."

No bedding then.

"It looked as if someone had ripped out her heart." Lancelot gave his impression and added jokingly, "She didn't deny that either."

"What is your impression?" Arthur turned his attention to Tristan.

"She's odd. Acting suspicious. But stories sound reasonable." he summarized his impression.

Arthur nodded, accustomed to the scout's short statements. "As I see it, there is no evidence she is in collaboration with the enemy. Not yet. I will release her on conditions. Make sure she is being observed." Arthur decided.

Ivy sat on the cot in her room and stared at the door. How long would they take to decide? She had bundled up her belongings, which they had brought to her room a day ago. Everything was there including purse and comb, the clothes even washed. Only the little dagger was missing. She still hadn't figured out who had given it to her and after the past events, she very much doubted it had been him. Him, who she would never address again. Him, who she would never look at again. Him, who had abandoned her and thereby vanished from existence for her. He would blend in with the other town folks and just be a faceless inhabitant she made a berth around when wandering the streets of the fort. If she ever wandered them again, that is.

Her eyes focused on the door when she heard the faint noise of footsteps coming down the corridor. And indeed, they stopped at the door. Ivy got to her feet to meet her fate head on. It was the Second-in-Command who stepped inside, Sir Lancelot.

"Your fate is not decided yet," he began. "The King has doubts he will have to think about further." It wasn't what Arthur had decided but close enough, and it would be more of a warning. It went against Lancelot's intuition to let her off the hook too easily.

Ivy's first idea was 'They are going to throw me back in a cell to wait.'

However, this fear was quickly overcome when Lancelot added "You are not to leave the premise of the fort."

They let her go. For now. Phew!

Although Ivy should be grateful, she had to object. "Sir, my work requires to fetch water from the river." Not to mention, how should he keep up her hygiene regime without bathing in the lake?

"You are not to leave the fort." He reiterated in a stronger voice. "All guards will be instructed on this matter and you better not upset them." That sounded like a thinly veiled threat... "Dagonet will find someone else to fetch the water as he had before."

Ivy was short on painting the picture of her losing her job because of the restrictions and falling back on crimes, which the King surely didn't want. She bit her tongue though. She knew when she had strained her luck.

Lancelot had started to turn towards the door but paused, then turned back with this inquisitive look of his. "What did those scribblings on the cell wall mean?" It was something that had bugged him the last few days, and which had been completely forgotten in the meeting once Ivy had started to reveal her past. After giving a glimpse of her education, it was out of question that these were not just random symbols.

Lancelot had returned to the cell the day after the woman had been put in a proper bed, and had tried to decipher something - anything. Arthur's secretary was barely of any help. He only told Lancelot what he already suspected, that they were Latin letters.

In only one thing was the secretary of any assistance. He had tried to read and pronounce what was written as if it were Latin, and what came into light were the names of some knights and the King himself. Seeing what was supposed to be his name etched into a prison cell wall by a suspected traitor did not sit well with Lancelot.

Ivy hadn't answered yet.

"I know you wrote about the King and his officers. What does it say?" Lancelot pressed on.

Ivy was reminded of her frenzy when she had adorned the wall with some praisings and some less polite things. "They tell the story of how I came to be in the cell."

"What do they say?!"

"The truth. Something people might find in centuries and think back on the great knights of King Arthur. Some things I learned about you and your kind and felt that needed to be told to future generations."

Her phrasing left a bitter taste in Lancelot's mouth. He was close to dragging her back to that cell and having her decipher every word. He was uncomfortable not knowing what was written but then, who could read it? Now and here? Nobody. Maybe he would ask the prison keeper to scrub the walls. All he could do for now was haul Ivy out onto the street with a mean face and another warning not to do one wrong step or she would be right back under investigation.

And this is how Ivy found herself in the court yard, her bundle of belongings clutched in her arms. Only this time, she had somewhere to go. Her first way took her to the smithy to give her thanks to Dagonet. To her surprise, the windows where still barred and the shop was closed despite it being the middle of the day. Was Dagonet on a business trip again? Since there was no point in waiting any longer, she went on towards the tavern to give her thanks to Vanora. The red-head was quite busy with the lingering travelling salesmen, who still brought good coin to the place. She was ordering around the bar maids and urging the cook to hurry with the stew. Nevertheless, she found enough time for a short chat and was glad to see Ivy back on her feet and out of her confines. When Ivy asked of Dagonet's whereabouts, a smile spread across Vanora's face.

"Oh, dear. I don't think you will see him around in the next two or three days. Lyria went into labour last night. Can't be long till the small one is born," she explained.

Now, the condition to not leave the fort's bounds, and therefore not to go to Lyria's and Dagonet's cottage anytime soon, stung even more.

* * *

**Translations**

* You have met Saxons so often and you have chatted with them, drinking a cup of tea and eating biscuits. Is that so? … What? No one wants to answer? Cat's got your tongue? Where are the language experts? No one?

** ... I should speak French. You know, the language of the Gaul. Not that this would be closer to Saxon but since I speak it reasonably well I thought I just add it to the conversation. You can say such nasty things in French and it still would sound like a love declaration. Isn't that wonderful?

*** I would like to order a bottle of beer and icecream. Where is your restroom? How do I get to the nearest cafe? How much does this cost? I have a bottle of vodka.

* * *

**Author's note**

Over 30 reviews for one chapter and lots of new followers! Be still my beating heart! I hope this chapter meets your expectations. A lot of help came from my beta Beleg Strongbow, who improved the flow and once again picked out all the mistakes and typos I made. Credits for the Russian and French parts go to Lilliesshadow and FlyingCrispy. Thanks for the translations!


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